


Harry Potter and the Temple of Elemental Evil

by Emmyllou



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmyllou/pseuds/Emmyllou
Summary: Harry and friends play through the iconic Dungeons and Dragons module.





	Harry Potter and the Temple of Elemental Evil

**Author's Note:**

> The passages in italics are taken from the Temple of Elemental Evil guidebook and are meant to be read by the Dungeon Master to the players. I have edited them slightly in a few parts to better suit the story and the players as suggested by the guidebook itself.

**Part 1: The Village of Hommlet**

Player’s Background: The Temple of Elemental Evil

_The Village of Hommlet—or merely "Hommlet," as it is commonly called—is situated in the central part of the Flanaess, that portion of western Oerik Continent which is known and 'civilized.' The hamlet-sized village (local parlance having distinguished it with the greater term) is located some 30 leagues southeast of the town of Verbobonc, or thereabouts, on the fringe of the territory controlled by the noble Lord the Viscount of Verbobonc. It is at a crossroads. To the north is the mighty Velverdyva River, along whose south bank runs the Lowroad. Many days' travel to the east, on the shores of the Lake of Unknown Depths (Nyr Dyv), is the great walled city of Dyvers. The village of Sobanwych lies about halfway along the route. Below that to the southeast and east are miles and miles of forest (the Gnarley), beyond which is the Wild Coast, Woolly Bay, and the Sea of Gearnat. The road south forks a league or so beyond the little community, one branch meandering off towards the Wild Coast, the other rolling through the lower Kron Hills to the village of Ostverk and then eventually turning southwards again into the elven kingdom of Celene. The western route leads into the very heart of the gnomish highlands, passing through Greenway Valley about a day's travel distant and going onwards to the Lortmil Mountains far beyond. Hommlet grew from a farm or two, a rest house, and a smithy. The roads brought a sufficient number of travelers and merchant wagons to attract tradesmen and artisans to serve those passing through. The resthouse became a thriving inn, and a wheel and wainwright settled in the thorp. More farmers and herdsmen followed, for grain was needed for the passing animals, and meat was in demand for the innfolk. Prosperity was great, for the lord of the district was mild and taxed but little. Trade was good, and the land was untroubled by war, outlaws, or ravaging beasts. The area was free, beautiful, and bountiful — too much so, in the eyes of some. Whether the evil came west from Dyvers (as is claimed by one faction) or crept up out of the forestlands bordering the Wild Coast (as others assert), come it did. At first it was only a few thieves and an odd group of bandits molesting the merchant caravans. Then came small bands of humanoids—kobolds or goblins—raiding the flocks and herds. Local militia and foresters of the Waldgraf of Ostverk apparently checked, but did not stop, the spread of outlawry and evil. A collection of hovels and their slovenly inhabitants formed the nucleus for the troubles which were to increase. A wicked cleric established a small chapel at this point. The folk of Hommlet tended to ignore this place, Nulb, even though it was but 6 miles distant. But its out-of-the-way position was ideal for the fell purposes planned for this settlement, as was its position on a small river flowing into the Velverdyva. The thickets and marshes around Nulb became the lair and hiding place for bandits, brigands, and all sorts of evil men and monsters alike. The chapel grew into a stone temple as its faithful brought in their ill-gotten tithes. Good folk were robbed, pillaged, enslaved, and worse. In but three years, a grim and forbidding fortress surrounded the evil place, and swarms of creatures worshipped and worked their wickedness therein. The servants of the Temple of Elemental Evil made Hommlet and the lands for leagues around a mockery of freedom and beauty. Commerce ceased, crops withered; pestilence was abroad. But the leaders of this cancer were full of hubris and, in their overbearing pride, sought to overthrow the good realms to the north, who were coming to the rescue of the land being crushed under the tyranny wrought by the evil temple. A great battle was fought. When the good people of Hommlet saw streams of ochre-robed men and humanoids fleeing south and west through their community, there was great rejoicing, for they knew that the murderous oppressors had been defeated and driven from the field in panic and rout. So great was the slaughter, so complete the victory of good, that the walled stronghold of the Temple of Elemental Evil fell within a fortnight, despite the aid of a terrible demon. The place was ruined and sealed against a further return of such abominations by powerful blessings and magic. Life in Hommlet quickly returned to a semblance of its former self, before the rise of the temple. For five years afterward, the village and the surrounding countryside have become richer and more prosperous than ever before. A monstrous troll which plagued the place for a time was hunted down by a party of passing adventurers. Carrying the ashes and a goodly fortune as well, the adventurers returned to the village. Before going elsewhere to seek their fortunes, the adventurers also returned a portion of the villagers' losses. Other adventurers, knowing of the evil that had once resided in the area, came to seek out similar caches, and several did find remote lairs and wealth—just as some never returned at all. After a time, adventurers stopped coming to the area. It seemed that no monsters were left to slay, and no evil existed here to be stamped out. The villagers heaved a collective sigh—some pained at the loss of income, but others relieved by the return to the quiet, normal life—and Hommlet continued its quiet existence for four years more. But then, a year ago, the bandits began to ride the roads again—not frequently, but to some effect. To the good folk of Hommlet, this seemed all too familiar, so they sent word to the Viscount that wicked forces might still lurk thereabouts. This information has been spread throughout the countryside, and the news has attracted outsiders to the village once again. Who and what these men are, no one can be quite sure. All claim to be bent on slaying monsters and bringing peace and security to Hommlet; but deeds speak more loudly than words, and lies cloak the true purposes of the malevolent._

\---

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.” Draco made a show of _Scourgifying_ his ears. “Because it _sounded_ like you just invited me to play _Dungeons & Dragons _ with you, Hermione, and half the Weasel clan this Saturday evening.”

“We’re about to start a new campaign,” Harry said. “I can show you how to make a character and everything. It’s really fun, I promise.”

“And what exactly is _Dungeons & Dragons _?”

Harry stared across the cluttered office he shared with Draco. “You’ve never heard of _Dungeons & Dragons _?”

“No, Potter, or I wouldn’t have asked, would I? Go on then, what is it?”

“It’s a Muggle role-playing game.”

“A role-playing game.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “Yes, a role-playing game. We create characters that we role-play as. There’s all kinds of characters you can be. You can be a monk or a bard or a ranger or even a wizard. One person, called the Dungeon Master--that’s George, for us--creates the world we play in. In our case, we’re going to be playing through an adventure that’s already been written, though George is updating it to a more modern edition. It’s kind of like being characters in our own story.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Draco, steepling his fingers. “You think I don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday evening than run around with a bunch of Weasels while pretending to be a wizard--which, may I remind you, I already am, in my _real life_ that is _real_?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all. “Well, you don’t run around. You sit at a table. There’ll be food and drinks, and it’s really fun.”

“Yes, you said that already,” Draco said with a sigh. “I just don’t know if it’s my cup of tea.” He sipped from his cup of tea.

Harry tossed the _Player’s Handbook_ across the room, and Draco caught it mid-sip. “Just look through the rules over the next few days, alright? This book shows you how to make a character and gives you plenty of options. Owl me if you’ve got questions. And if you decide it’s really not something you want to do, then that’s fine.” Harry shrugged. “But at least give it a chance, alright?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Very well, but only to stop you from looking like a kicked puppy. Is that your plan for catching those wannabe Death Eaters that Robards just turned up? Look so pathetic that they can’t bring themselves to even hex you?”

“What, do you think it’ll work?”

Their conversation dissolved into childish bantering, the matter of _Dungeons & Dragons_ seemingly forgotten. Harry noted with satisfaction, however, that Draco made no attempt to “accidentally” leave the _Player’s Handbook_ behind when they locked up their tiny office for the day.

\---

“ _Potter!”_

Harry blearily looked up from his paperwork. It was way too early for this shit, he decided. He wasn’t entirely sure what the shit was, exactly, but he knew it was too early for it.

Draco stood in the doorway of their shared office, looking even more tired than Harry felt. “This book is utterly ridiculous,” he said, brandishing the _Player’s Handbook_. “These Muggle concepts of magic-- _arcane_ and _divine_? And you can only cast one spell every six seconds? And bards, for some reason, can _sing pretty songs_ and enchant everyone around them! Let me tell you, I have never been enchanted by a song in my life. And Animagi who can only change forms a few times each day, but they can change into whatever animal they want? What, in the name of Merlin’s excessively voluminous and snowy beard, _is_ this game?”

“So you’ve read the rules?”

Draco deflated slightly and slunk to his desk. “Yes, I’ve read the rules. They’re excessively complex, and I really don’t understand why Muggles need three and a half different versions, but I read the rules.”

“And you don’t like the game.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You do like the game?”

“I didn’t say that either, Potter,” Draco snapped. “Honestly, fucking listen once in a while, will you?”

“Well, do you want to fucking play or not?”

“Yes, I fucking want to play.”

“Well fucking great then!”

An Auror poked her head into their office. “Everything all right, gentlemen?” she asked.

“Yep,” said Harry. Draco nodded his agreement.

“Great,” she said with a sunny smile. “Keep it down, then, would you? And watch your fucking language.”

“So do you want any help making a character, then?” Harry asked after the few moments of silence the Auror had left in her wake.

“ _I ardeemayun_ ,” Draco mumbled.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.” Harry leaned closer.

Draco glared. “I already made one, you tosser.”

“Great! What class are you?”

“A wizard. Honestly, Potter, what else would I be? A _rogue_?” Draco brushed a piece of invisible lint off his sleeve. “What time are you playing?”

“We’re starting at seven. I usually host the group; we’ll be at Grimmauld Place. You remember where it is?”

Draco nodded. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just your sense of adventure!”

“Merlin, I’m already regretting this.”

\---

A knock on the front door of Grimmauld Place interrupted Harry and Hermione’s heated debate about the usefulness of mystic theurges. “It’s probably Draco,” Harry said.

“Why’d he have to invite the git, anyway?” Ron asked as Harry hurried down the hallway and wrenched open the door.

Draco stood on the doorstep, clutching a case of Butterbeers. “I brought drinks,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. He grabbed the case and led Draco toward the refurbished drawing room. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“Of course I showed up, Potter. I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Well, actually, no.”

“Oh.” Draco looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Well, I’m here.”

“I noticed.”

Hermione, George, and Ron had already filled their plates with food and had sat themselves at the table. “Toss me one of those, Harry,” George called from behind his enchanted Dungeon Master screen, and Harry passed the Butterbeers around.

“If you try to peek, it’ll hex you,” George faux-whispered to Draco, indicating his screen. Draco looked mildly alarmed, but perched on the chair next to George anyways. “I looked over your backstory,” George continued. “Very interesting. Did Harry tell you how the game is played?”

Draco nodded. “You create the world and the story, and we control our characters within the world. I read the combat rules, and they’re ludicrous, but I understand them.”

“Oh, aren’t they just ridiculous?” George said. “I laughed for a good ten minutes at the spell slot system when Dad first introduced us to the game.”

“I’ve worked out a few charms to show the landscape George describes and display how our characters move in combat,” said Hermione.

“That’s… impressive,” Draco said. “Really. Good job.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Hermione waved off the compliment, but she looked pleased nonetheless. “It’s just a variation on the charm used for wizard chess, plus a color-change charm.”

“Shut up, you’re brilliant,” Ron said, and he kissed her on the cheek.

George cleared his throat. “Kill monsters now, smooch later.”

Ron settled back in his seat, looking appropriately abashed.

“I’m going to start you off by having you all introduce your characters. Tell us what you look like and a few character traits that would be apparent after traveling with each other for a few weeks. Hermione, why don’t you begin?”

“Hermia has long black hair that she always keeps braided. She’s short for a human and good at being unnoticeable. She carries two blades at her side: A rapier, which she practices with every night, and a beautiful jeweled dagger, which she never uses. Her shabby leather armor suggests that she is too poor to have come across the dagger by licit means.” As she spoke, a miniature version of her character, not more than ten centimeters tall, appeared on the table.

“Thanks, Hermione,” George said. “You next, Ron.”

“Rodney the Pious looks almost human except for his slightly-pointed ears. He wears a symbol of St. Cuthbert around his neck, and he has mentioned the Church of St. Cuthbert in Hommlet several times on the journey. He carries a mace, and his armor and shield are polished to a mirror finish. He awakens before dawn each day to pray to his god.”

“You’re up, Ginny.”

“Throughout the past few weeks, Gwenna has been keeping your spirits up on the road with her music and songs. She carries a lute, and she is able to supply trivia about places and people the rest of the group has never heard of. She is skilled with a bow and has often volunteered to hunt down supper. She’s got curly black hair with streaks of silver that she likes to wear loose.”

“Harry?”

Harry had always felt slightly silly introducing his character this way, but George had assured him that this was how all campaigns started. Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he believed him. “Harper wears sturdy hide armor and carries a greatsword that looks almost too big for him to handle. His hair always has twigs and leaves in it, even though he keeps the rest of his body clean. Every night, he works on teaching himself to read, using a set of fairy tales usually given to children.”

“It’s your turn, Draco,” George said.

Draco took a sip of Butterbeer before starting his introduction. “Darius is a wizard-- _human,_ of course. He wears fine robes, which he keeps in good condition with a spell. A raven familiar accompanies him, and they often converse on arcane matters. Darius also carries a--” Draco squinted at his character sheet. “--A crossbow, though he has never had to use it. His powers have never failed him in combat.”

George clapped his hands together once. “Great, that’s everyone. Let’s begin your adventure!

_“Your party is now approaching the Village of Hommlet, having ridden up from lands of the Wild Coast. You are poorly mounted, badly equipped, and have no large sums of cash. In fact, all you have is what you wear and what you ride, plus the few coins that are hidden in purses and pockets. What you do possess in quantity, though, is daring and desire to become wealthy and famous. Thus your group comes to Hommlet to learn. Is this indeed a place for adventurers to seek their fortunes? You all hope, of course, to gain riches and make names for yourselves. The outcome of this is uncertain, but your skill and daring, along with a good measure of luck, will be the main ingredients of what follows, be it for weal or woe._

_“The small community at the crossroads is a completely unknown quantity. What is there? Who will be encountered? Where should you go? These are your first explorations and encounters, so chance may dictate as much as intelligence. Will outsiders be shunned? Are the reports true — is the whole community engaged in evil practices? Are the folk here bumpkins, easily duped? Does a curse lay upon those who dare to venture into the lands which were once the Temple's? All of these questions will soon be answered._

_“The dusty, rutted road is lined with closely-grown hedges of brambles and shrubs. Here and there it cuts through a copse or crosses a rivulet. To either hand, forest and meadow have given way to field and orchard. A small herd of kine graze nearby, and a distant hill is dotted with the wand stone chimneys with thin plumes of blue smoke rising from them. A road angles west into the hill country, and to either side of the road ahead are barns and buildings — Hommlet at last!_

_“The adventure begins…”_ As George spoke, a landscape formed about the miniature characters, now mounted. It flowed and changed as George added more detail. Harry snuck a peek at Draco, who looked enraptured with the charm.

" _You come first to a prosperous farm house with a large nearby barn. This wood and plaster house is well-kept, and the barn beyond is bulging with hay and grain. Several fat animals are about. Two large farm dogs bark at your approach, and an active lad of twelve or so is doing chores.”_

“Hail!” called Gwenna. “This is the Village of Hommlet, yes?”

“Aye,” the boy said.

“We heard there was trouble in the region and thought we could lend our assistance. Who should we talk to to get more information about the unrest?”

The boy pointed toward the house. “Them.”

“Thanks.” Gwenna said. She handed the boy a few coppers and motioned for the rest of the group to join her. “Let me do the talking, alright?” she whispered before knocking.

After a few moments, an elderly woman answered the door. She remained silent, waiting for someone to speak.

“We heard Hommlet was having bandit trouble again, and we’re here to offer our assistance,” Gwenna said

“Oh yes, you’ll want to talk to my husband,” said the woman. “Come in then, dears. Do hurry.” She waved them inside and latched the door behind them. “Sit down; I’ll fetch him.”

The group settled themselves around an age-stained wooden table. Harper shifted around, his chair slightly too small for comfort. Darius’s raven croaked, and the wizard hushed it.

Only a few moments passed before the old woman returned, her husband in tow. She busied herself making a kettle of tea, and her husband leaned against the counter.

“You’ve heard about the problems we’ve been having here, then?” he said.

“Aye,” said Gwenna. “We want to help drive away whatever evil still lurks here.”

“Hmm.” The old man pursed his lips. “You’re not the first to come to Hommlet looking to help. We sent word to the Viscount about a year ago, and since then, adventurers have started passing through.”

“Have any been successful in driving off the bandits?”

“The bandits keep coming. Sometimes they raid the outer farms or merchants on the road, but mostly they’re just passing through.”

“This happened before, didn’t it?”

The old man nodded. “Thirteen years ago. It started the same way, with a few bandit attacks on the roads. Kobolds and goblins came through afterwards and raided the flocks. The militia tried to fight them off, but they kept coming. They established a village called Nulb about six miles away, and an evil cleric set up a bit of a temple there. The temple grew, and more evil creatures and worshippers made their homes in Nulb and the swamp around it.”

“And you think that’s what’s happening again?”

“It feels the same. I’d go out to the old ruins myself, or maybe all the way to Nulb, but I’m a bit past my prime.” The man gestured to his weathered body.

“What old ruins?” Darius broke in. Gwenna shot him a glare, but he paid her no mind.

“The destroyed moathouse. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“No, we haven’t heard anything about ruins or a moathouse. Where is it?”

“It’s up the river on the way to Nulb. The followers of the Temple of Elemental Evil used it as a sort of outpost. We don’t go there anymore--too many bad memories. It wasn’t destroyed until after the Temple was brought down.”

“We all came out to help seige it,” said the old woman as she set a mug of tea in front of each of her guests. “Tarnett was there, of course. He was the captain of the militia at the time.” She planted a kiss on her husband’s head. “And I brought our sons as well. They were young, but I wanted them to know what it means to have honor and goodness and to defend one’s home.”

“Have you sent anyone else to the moathouse?” Hermia asked.

“No one who has come back,” said Tarnett. “A few groups of adventurers headed up there about six months ago. We never saw them again, ‘cept for that one fellow who stuck around at the inn.”

“What’s his name?”

“Can’t rightly remember.” Tarnett scratched his head. “Zerf? Zart? Something like that.”

“I think we should head to the ruins tomorrow,” Gwenna said. “Maybe we’ll find some clues about why the bandits are returning.” She looked around, consulting her fellows at the table, and Harper and Hermia readily nodded their agreement. Rodney and Darius looked slightly more apprehensive.

“Talk to our son Elmo before you go,” the woman advised. “He’s familiar with the woods and the swamp around the moathouse. You should be able to find him at the inn. And the other council members might be able to help you too. You’ll find Jaroo in the grove and Terjon in the church. Burne--he’s a wizard--is usually in the tower on the other side of town.”

“We’ll do that, thanks.” Gwenna drained her cup of tea. “Come on then. Let’s go.”

The group obediently shuffled out after Gwenna and mounted their horses. “I want to visit the Church of St. Cuthbert,” Rodney piped up from the back of the group.

“Yes, we know,” said Darius. “It’s all you’ve been talking about for the past week or so.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Gwenna said. “Rodney, I’m sure we’ll have time to visit the Church after we talk to Elmo.”

_“You pass several more farmhouses and cottages on your way into town. Eventually, near the center of town, you come to a large building with a sign above the door. The square wooden sign shows a buxom and smiling girl holding a flagon of beer. This must be the Inn of the Welcome Wench, a place renowned for its good food and excellent drink! Passing merchants make a point of stopping, as do many other sorts of wayfarers, and it is said that the place is always filled with patrons. You can hear raucous cheers coming from within. As you pause in front of the inn, a young groom emerges from the nearby stable and offers to put up your horses for the night.”_

“That will be just fine,” Gwenna said. She dismounted, the rest of the group following suit soon after. They handed their reins to the groom and stepped into the warm, cheery inn. A bartender stood behind a bar against one wall, several barrels and casks stacked behind him.

“First round is on me,” Hermia whispered as she pressed a gold piece into Gwenna’s hand. “Ask the bartender which one Elmo is.” She led the rest of the group to sit around a table close enough to the bar to eavesdrop.

Gwenna approached the bar. “I’ll take five heavy beers and one mead,” she said after a quick consultation of the menu. She slid the gold coin across the counter. “And a bit of information, if you don’t mind. I’m looking for two men. One is named Elmo. The other is an adventurer that investigated the ruins of the moathouse. Are either of them here?”

The bartender gathered five pewter steins in one hand and held them under a spigot. A dark brown beer gushed from the barrel. “Elmo’s the drunk in the corner, but Zert isn’t in. You might be able to catch him here in the evening. New in town, are you? You don’t have the look of traders.”

“I guess you could say we’re adventurers. We’re here to help with the bandit problem. I spoke with Tarnett, the captain of the militia, you know? He said that what’s happening now is similar to what happened in the past. Do you remember anything about the formation of the Temple of Elemental Evil?”

The bartender shrugged. “A bit. I’ve been around for a while. That must have been just about when I got the inn from Old Andy, wouldn’t it?” He nodded in satisfaction. “Right, because Old Andy was one of the first to be attacked by bandits. Terrible business, that. Just terrible.”

“Can you tell me anything about the ruined moathouse on the way to Nulb? Tarnett said followers of the Temple of Elemental Evil used it as a sort of outpost. Were they planning on expanding their rule from there?”

“He said that, did he? Well, I can’t claim to know what the cultists had planned. No sane person here would.”

“Thanks,” said Gwenna, but she was visibly frustrated. “Do you have any open rooms for myself and my friends?”

The bartender gave the group at the table a quick once-over. “You said you’re adventurers? I’ve a dormitory room. Twelve cots, only a silver piece each. It’s popular among folk like you who pass through here. If that don’t appeal to you, I’ve got a few private rooms open.”

“The dormitory will be fine,” Gwenna said after a quick, non-verbal consultation with the group. “Cough up, you lot.” She collected their silver in the palm of her hand and dumped it onto the bar counter.

“Dorm’s on the upper floor, room five,” said the bartender as he swept the coins into a pocket in his apron. “Breakfast will be on the table in the morning, no extra charge.”

“One last thing. I’m a minstrel of some skill.” Gwenna held up her lute. “Might I perform for your patrons this evening, or does another musician play here regularly?”

“You’re welcome to perform in the common room,” the bartender said. “Most of the musicians we get here are with a trading company, or they’re adventurers like yourself. Here’s your change.” He laid three silver pieces on the bar. “Please excuse me, I have other customers.”

“Keep it.” Gwenna dropped into a chair beside Harper, placing a stein in front of each person around the table, but keeping the mead close at hand. “That was useless,” she whispered. “Think he knows anything else?”

“He’s definitely hiding something,” said Hermia. “But I doubt it has anything to do with the ruins. Maybe Elmo will know more.”

“I don’t want to talk to some disgusting sod who’s probably too inebriated to know his own name,” hissed Rodney. His beer sat untouched; he had pushed it away as soon as Gwenna had set it before him. “I want to pay my respects to St. Cuthbert, someone who actually did something useful, unlike us.”

“Go on then,” Darius said. “I don’t fancy spending any more time in this place than I have to, myself. If Rodney the Prat is going, then so am I.”

“Where?” asked Hermia.

“None of your business.”

“We’re supposed to be a team,” Gwenna said. “We need to be able to work together if we’re going to stop this bandit problem.”

“We’re not doing any work sitting here with our thumbs up our arses,” said Darius.

“He’s got a point.”

“Agreed.”

“Well said, Darius.”

“Fine,” said Gwenna. “Let’s split up then. Try to find out whatever you can about the ruins of the moathouse or why the bandits might be returning. Meet back here before nightfall.”

“Who made her the boss?” Rodney grumbled to Harper on their way out the door.

Harper shrugged. “Dunno.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Don’t have much to say.”

“A man of action, then?”

“I suppose.”

They strolled through town in companionable, if slightly awkward silence for several more minutes.

“Here’s the church,” said Rodney. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

\---

Rodney the Pious pushed open the door of the church and stepped into a small audience chamber. “Hello,” said a young man in the corner. “Please be seated.” He indicated the rows of hard wooden benches grouped near the door. “The table in the corner has several religious scrolls and texts. You may peruse them, if you wish. If you are feeling generous, donations placed in the box on the table are used to help feed, clothe, and house the needy of Hommlet. Take some time to reflect upon the deeds and teachings of St. Cuthbert. I will return in a few minutes.”

Rodney dropped a gold piece into the box and selected a scroll at random, which turned out to be a firsthand account of one of the miracles St. Cuthbert had performed. He was so engrossed in the story that the young man had to try several times to get his attention. “Sorry!” Rodney said when he finally looked up. “This is one of my favorite stories.”

“It’s not just a story,” admonished the young man. “It’s a true retelling of history, straight from the lips of one of the many sinners to whom St. Cuthbert gave a new life.”

“Of course,” Rodney said, abashed. “I just meant… It’s one of my favorite… true retellings of history.”

The young man’s stern expression softened. “My name is Calmert. I assist Canon Terjon with sermons and serving the public. What is your business in the church?”

“I wish to worship at the altar and ask St. Cuthbert for guidance,” said Rodney. “I will be traveling to the old moathouse tomorrow, and I pray St. Cuthbert will bless the expedition.”

“Of course. Please leave your weapons here. They won’t be disturbed.”

Rodney reluctantly leaned his mace and shield against the wall by the fireplace.

“You carry a mace, like our saint himself.”

“I vowed to follow in St. Cuthbert’s footsteps, and using the same weapon as he did allows me to channel his divine wrath against the forces of evil.”

“You show wisdom in allowing yourself to be the instrument of holy judgement. But you’re not planning on going alone, are you? Several groups of adventurers have tried to investigate the area, but none returned.”

“No, I have four… Well, I suppose I can’t really call them friends.” Rodney grimaced. “Acquaintances, I guess. They’re probably trying to pry information out of some useless drunkard right now.”

“You should show more respect for those in need of guidance,” the young priest scolded.

“The drunkard? He doesn’t want guidance.”

“No? How is it you can speak for him? Do you know his every inner thought and desire, even though you don’t even know his name?”

“I don’t have to, and I don’t want to.”

“Salvation isn’t just for the people you want to know.”

“Not everyone deserves redemption.”

“And to think I praised your wisdom moments ago. Who are you to decide who is worthy?”

“I don’t have the time or the energy to try to bring redemption to everyone, especially if they don’t want it.”

“Then you need to ask yourself why you wear that symbol.” Calmert tapped the holy symbol on Rodney’s chest. “The altar is just in the other room. I will pray for you and your acquaintances.” He held open a dark velvety curtain, and Rodney stepped through.

The fabric swished closed behind him, but Rodney barely noticed. A life-size statue of St. Cuthbert stood in the center of the circular room. One hand held a cudgel high in the air, and the other beckoned to the world at large. A smile was upon the statue’s face, and the artist’s skill was so great that Rodney felt as if the saint were welcoming him personally to the sanctuary. He knelt at the bronzewood altar and didn’t rise until almost nightfall.

\---

After parting ways with Rodney, Harper wandered aimlessly until he found the Grove.

" _This is obviously a place of worship. The trees are neatly pruned, and the grass is well tended. A carefully placed line of bluish stones sets off the path leading to a rock cairn where flowers, nuts, berries, and garlands of leaves are placed. A small path leads beyond the shrine to a low-roofed wooden building placed under the great boughs of the central oaks of the copse.”_

The Grove appeared empty at first glance, but Harper knew otherwise. A great, placid beast lurked in the shadows. “Hello,” he said, mostly to the creature, but he wasn’t surprised when a human voice answered.

“Welcome to the Grove.” The owner of the voice emerged from the building. He looked much like the wooden staff upon which he leaned heavily: gnarled, wizened, and dark as a nut.

“Are you Jaroo?” Harper asked.

The man nodded. “Aye. What business do you have here?”

“I wanted to make an offering to the gods of the Old Faith.”

Jaroo looked slightly grumpy. “Well you didn’t need to call me out here for that.”

“I didn’t. I was talking to your…” Harper gestured towards the hidden creature.

“He doesn’t talk much.”

“Do you?”

Jaroo chuckled. “Sometimes, but not about anything you’d find particularly interesting.”

“I’m interested in the Temple of Elemental Evil.”

“Are you now? Why?”

“I want to destroy it.”

“That’s all young people focus on these days, it seems. Destruction and conquering and consuming,” said Jaroo. “You must know you’re too late. The Temple was destroyed years ago.”

“But problems are starting up again.”

“They are, at that.”

“I want to help.”

“You won’t do any good mucking about some old rubble. The Temple was cast down. I saw to it myself.”

“You destroyed the Temple?” Harper couldn’t hide his skepticism.

“Don’t look so surprised, my boy!” Jaroo laughed. “There are more ways to raze a stone fortress than simply taking it apart by hand.” He quickly sobered up. “I did not destroy the Temple, however. I was merely sent here to verify that it was, indeed, destroyed. I stayed here to help quash any evil that might arise at a later time, and arise indeed it has.”

“I’m going to visit the ruins of the moathouse tomorrow,” said Harper.

“A vile place.” Jaroo shuddered at the memory. “The evils that occurred there still taint the land.”

“What happened there?”

“The people of Hommlet were to become slaves, totally subservient to the wills of their masters in the Temple. Their first objective would have been to build another fortress in the west, and after that another and another, and so the corruption would spread across the land like a plague.”

“Have you been to the ruins yourself?”

“Only once, to confirm their destruction. And believe me, that was once too many. Come, now. Enough talk of the unpleasant past. You said you wished to make an offering?”

Harper couldn’t ignore such an obvious rebuff. He nodded and fished around in his pocket for the nuts he had gathered on the ride to Hommlet, unbeknownst to the party. Kneeling before the cairn, he arranged the nuts in a circle on one of the larger rocks. When he looked up, Jaroo had disappeared, but the sensation of being watched lingered until Harper left the Grove.

\---

Darius flagged down a passing barmaid. “Can you tell me where the mage Burne resides?” he asked.

She looked him up and down. “Another wizard, are ye? Burne and his… _friend_ live in the guard tower on the other side of town.”

“His friend? Well, could you--”

“Oh, aye, them’s very close, they are. Now, I’m no gossip.” The barmaid winked. “But I’ll just say that neither Burne nor Rufus have made much use of my services.”

“You mean they don’t come here to drink?” said Darius, bewildered.

The barmaid burst out laughing. “You’re too sweet. Now shoo, I’m busy.”

“What was that about?” Darius asked his raven as he stepped outside, but it only croaked in response. “Fly around a bit, will you? Try to find the guard tower.” The raven took to the air immediately. Darius barely had to wait a minute for its return.

“That way,” it said, its voice raspy and inhuman.

Darius tossed the raven a treat and set off in the direction it indicated.

" _The two-storied tower is some fifty-five feet tall, a smaller tower rising inside the greater at about thirty-five feet above the ground. Its entrance is accessible only by going up a curving flight of stone stairs which terminate in a landing about ten feet above the ground. The outer door of the tower lowers to form a bridge to the stone landing. There are numbers of arrow slits around the tower, and it has a splay around the base to about six feet in height. The lower and upper battlements are machicolated, the merlons being pierced for archery as well. Two men-at-arms watch from its roof.”_

Darius stared up at the looming tower and fought down his apprehension. Flashes of red and orange light illuminated the stairs as he ascended, and his fine robe caught at imperfections in the stone. He knocked on the door, ignoring the stares from the men on the roof, and a man in a chain vest lowered the small drawbridge moments later. A light sheen of sweat covered his face and bare arms, and he was slightly out of breath.

The man leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Yeah?”

“Is this the home of Burne?” Darius asked.

“You mean Burne, His Most Worshipful Mage of Hommlet?”

“Oh. Is that what I’m supposed to call him?”

The man’s face broke into a grin. “Nah, kid, I’m just messing with you. He hates that title. What’s your name?”

“Darius.”

“I’m Rufus. I live here with Burne. What’s your business with him, anyway?”

“I’m a wizard, and I’m going to the ruins of the moathouse tomorrow with a few other people. I guess I was hoping he’d have some advice, or something like that.” Darius shuffled his feet and wished he had never come. His reasoning sounded inordinately stupid.

Rufus didn’t seem to think he was stupid, though. The other man pursed his lips in thought, then motioned Darius in. “Come on. Burne’s in the middle of an experiment, but I might be able to persuade him to take a break.” Darius followed him through the door into a cozy hall. Tapestries softened the austere walls, and a collection of comfortable-looking armchairs sat grouped in threes and fours along the edges of the room. Two fireplaces flanked the door Darius had just passed through, and servants tended roasting meals. A guard in leather armor nodded in greeting to Rufus, and Rufus nodded back.

“Have a seat,” said Rufus, and he disappeared up a set of stairs.

Darius sank into a chair and stared around at the hall, his eyes wide. He recognized St. Cuthbert on some of the tapestries and wrinkled his nose. He had heard quite enough of the saint from Rodney the Prig. Rufus didn’t keep him waiting long, though-- the warrior returned moments later and beckoned to him from the base of the stairs. “Burne’s room is this way. Sorry about the smell. It’s probably not toxic.”

Darius didn’t feel especially reassured, but he followed Rufus up the stairs anyway. A sickly green haze seeped out from underneath Burne’s door. The smell clung to the back of Darius’s throat, making him gag. He cast a quick prestidigitation spell to clear the air, but he was only partly successful.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Rufus said. “I usually bow out when Burne starts talking about the technicalities of magic. It all just goes way over my head.”

Darius gulped. “So do I knock, or--”

“Just go in.” Rufus clapped him on the back. “Don’t be so nervous. He’s not going to blast you.” He frowned. “Probably.” Darius turned to him in alarm, and Rufus laughed. “Joking! Relax, kid.”

Darius pushed the heavy door open, barely registering Rufus’s retreating footsteps. The room before him looked more like a laboratory than living quarters. A workbench cluttered with scrolls, potions, dried plants, and an angrily bubbling alembic took up most of the room. A bookshelf on the far wall held a collection of skulls that Darius was pretty sure weren’t human. Bunches of herbs and feathers hung from the ceiling, filling the room with a pungent smell. It took Darius several scans of the room to find Burne in all the chaos.

The wizard was younger than Darius had expected, and he sat hunched over a book, muttering to himself.

“Uh, hi,” said Darius.

Burne looked around wildly before his eyes finally found Darius. “What? Oh, hello. You’re Darius, right? Rufus said you had a few questions for me.”

“Well, not any specific questions, but…” Darius drew a deep breath, willing himself not to sound like an utter moron. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the Temple of Elemental Evil.”

“I’m not the person you should be asking,” said Burne. “I only got here three years ago, way after the Temple was destroyed. I was an adventurer, a lot like you, I guess.”

“Hommlet had problems even after the Temple was destroyed, right? Is that why you came here?”

“Rufus and I sought fame and fortune, just like everyone else. We were some of the lucky ones, though. We defeated some bandits that were raiding Verbobonc, you know, that big city to the north? Even after the Temple fell, this whole land was filled with monsters. A good time to be an adventurer, it was.” Burne leaned back in his chair, reminiscing, and Darius shifted a few scrolls aside so he could sit down as well. “People like me and Rufus drove off most of the monsters, though, and the adventuring dried up.”

“But the bandits are coming back,” said Darius.

“They are indeed. And your group aren’t the first adventurers to think you can put a stop to it.”

“Tarnett mentioned that a few groups of people tried to investigate the old moathouse, but only Zert made it back. Can you tell me anything about him?”

“I’ve met him a few times at the inn. He’s planning on leaving town with a trading caravan, actually.” Burne frowned. “Come to think of it, he’s been waiting for a certain caravan for years. Longer than I’ve been here. Must be a long route. But then you’d think he’d want to meet the traders halfway, right?”

Darius shrugged. He wasn’t interested in speculating about the motivations of some unknown man. He was, however, interested in the scrap of spell inscription he had just caught sight of. “What’s this?” he asked, tugging the scroll out from the pile of paper. He scanned the arcane writing. “You’re trying to create a new spell. Some kind of shield? But bigger and more fluid.”

“Most shield spells create an intangible barrier, you know? It’s only present when it needs to block something. But no matter where the attack comes from, the spell blocks with the same amount of energy. With this spell, though, the caster could direct the energy of the shield to where it most needs to be.”

“So you could shore up your defenses in the area that’s being attacked, while leaving an area that’s out of the line of fire with less defense. And it takes less energy than heavily defending everything.” Darius nodded. “Only practical if you know where your enemy is going to attack, though.”

“Yes, but imagine enchanting armor with this. Or even more. Imagine putting this spell on a whole city! Normally it takes much more powerful wizard than I to defend a city that well.”

“How’s the development going?”

“Alright, I guess.” Burne’s voice carried an undercurrent of thinly-veiled excitement, and Darius knew the experimentation was going much better than just _alright_. “Right now it takes too long to move the energy from one location to another. Which doesn’t make any sense, right? Energy shouldn’t be sluggish.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Darius asked.

Burne looked him up and down dubiously. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I don’t think you’re powerful enough to help with the actual construction of the spell, but I suppose you can help me practice. Can you throw things at me?”

“I-- yeah, I suppose. What do you want me to throw? Leaves and feathers wouldn’t work very well. What about one of those skulls?” Darius took a step to the skull display, but Burne leaped out of his chair to intercept him.

“No! What, are you crazy? Can’t you see that they’re cursed?”

Darius focused his magic and studied the skulls with new eyes. “You just leave stuff like this out in the open?”

Burne snorted. “Most people aren’t dumb enough to go around grabbing things they find in a wizard’s workshop. Here, use these instead.”

Darius accepted the pile of mundane-looking pebbles from the other man. “I should just… throw these at you?”

“Give me a moment.” A faint purple barrier crackled into life around Burne. “Alright, go.”

Darius tossed the first pebble.

\---

“I’m going to go try to find the room that Zert is staying in,” Hermia whispered to Gwenna. Then, much louder: “I’m going to check out the dormitory and claim our beds. Want me to take anything of yours up there?”

“No, that’s alright,” Gwenna said. “See you in a bit.”

Hermia padded to the stairwell but headed downstairs instead of up. She found a row of scullery uniforms hanging from nails next to the stairs and lifted one off its hook. It was slightly too big for her, but she cinched it tightly and lifted the skirt above her toes to keep from stumbling. Thus disguised, she climbed the stairs to the upper floor, selected a door at random, and knocked.

A scruffy-looking man opened the door. “What?” he grumbled.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Hermia. “Have you got any linens or dishes I can take for washing?”

“Yeah, a few.” The man collected a small armful of dirty dishes from a side table, and Hermia scanned the room. No weapons lay about, though from the way the man walked, Hermia knew he had a blade hidden in his boot. Another side table held a half-finished game of solitaire and a pair of knucklebones. “Here,” said the man. He dumped the dishes into Hermia’s arms and shut the door. She huffed at the man’s rudeness and knocked on the next door.

No answer came from within the room. Hermia set down her load and fished her lockpicks from a hidden pocket. She only had to fiddle with the lock for a few seconds before it clicked open. The room inside was devoid of any personal belongings, and the bed was crisply made. The next room was much the same--obviously empty. Hermia started to grow anxious. If the bartender were suspicious of her, he would have noticed her prolonged absence by now.

The fourth room was also locked, but Hermia found more promising results within. She riffled through a saddlebag of clothes on the table, but the only thing out of the ordinary was their fine, sturdy make. A bow was mounted on the wall above the bed, and its accompanying quiver of arrows dangled from the headboard. A sword and a shield hung beneath the bow. Hermia searched the saddlebags and a nearby coin purse for any personal markings, but she found no clues as to the identity of the owner.

Hermia decided she had time to search one more room. She knocked, then picked the lock when no one answered. A large chest at the foot of the bed caught her eye. Inside were a collection of drab robes, torches, a sleeping roll, and trail rations. Hermia wrinkled her nose. _Is another adventurer renting this room?_ She sniffed suspiciously at a pouch of dried leaves and recoiled. She recognized the smell: it hung around Darius like a malcontent viper. This must be a spell component pouch.

A heavy pair of boots thudded up the stairs, and Hermia gathered the dirty dishes in a panic and fled the room. She passed the owner of the heavy boots in the stairwell, and he squinted at her but made no move to stop her. Hermia dumped the dirty dishes behind a random door in the cellar, hung the ratty scullery apron back on its hook, and went to rejoin Gwenna.

\---

“I’m going to go try to find the room that Zert is staying in,” Hermia whispered to Gwenna. Then, much louder: “I’m going to check out the dormitory and claim our beds. Want me to take anything of yours up there?”

“No, that’s alright,” Gwenna said. “See you in a bit.”

Hermia disappeared down the stairs, and Gwenna made her way to Elmo’s table, mead in hand. Elmo looked up, and his face broke into a grin when Gwenna put the mead down in front of him.

“You’re Elmo, right?” Gwenna said as she took a seat at the table opposite the man. “I’m Gwenna, and I’m kind of new in town. An adventurer, actually, and I--”

“You’re an adventurer?” Elmo interrupted. His speech was thick and slurred, and Gwenna briefly reconsidered the wisdom of giving him the mead. “Like my brudder Otis?”

Gwenna frowned. “Yes, I suppose so. Anyways, I met your parents on my way into town, and they said that you’re familiar with the land and the swamp around here.”

Elmo took a huge gulp of mead. “Sure, I know the area preddy well. Are you lookin’ for a guide?”

Gwenna doubted whether the man would even be able to find his way out of the tavern in his current state. “Not so much a guide, really. I just want a bit of information.”

“About the swamp?”

“Yes, about the swamp.”

“Well, for one, it’s preddy wet.” Elmo guffawed at his own joke.

“I’ll keep that in mind. How about the ruins of the moathouse?”

The mention of the moathouse cut through Elmo’s drunken haze. “I only went there once, when we destroyed it,” he said. “I didn’t see any of what happened inside, but I could feel it, y’know? The place just felt… evil.”

“I’m sure that must have been a horrible experience.” Gwenna laid a sympathetic hand on the man’s shoulder. “You were so brave to help siege it. But I’ve heard that bad things are happening there again, and I want to put a stop to it.”

“And you want my help?”

“You can help me by telling me how to get to the ruins.”

Elmo nodded and took a fortifying drink. “There’s a track on the east side of town that leads into the swamp. It used to be bigger, but you should be able to follow it still, ‘specially since the bandits have been passing through. The moathouse is about a league away. You’ll be able to see it just fine once you get close, and there’s a cross-trail that leads right to the front door.”

“Thanks, Elmo,” said Gwenna. “Enjoy your drink.”

Hermia emerged from the staircase, and Gwenna steered her towards a table further away from the bartender. “Did you find anything?” Gwenna asked.

Hermia shrugged. “Most likely Zert is staying in the third room on the left. Weapons all over the walls, bags packed like he’s ready to head out. There’s definitely a mage of some kind staying here as well. I found a pouch with spell components like Darius uses. I ran into someone. Shifty-looking fellow, but I don’t think he’s our guy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Wrong type. Too squirrelly.”

Gwenna looked doubtful. “Maybe I should go check.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” huffed Hermia. “You’re not the only one who can read people. I know a soldier when I see one, and I know a thief when I see one.”

“You have a lot of experience with thieves?” Gwenna pointedly eyed the jeweled dagger at Hermia’s hip.

Hermia’s fingers twitched on the hilt. “Would that be a problem?”

Both women looked up as heavy footsteps approached their table.

“Welcome back, Harper,” Gwenna greeted the new arrival with a smile. “Did you have a pleasant walk?”

Harper nodded. “Learned a bit about the moathouse.”

Hermia leaned in her chair to check the darkening sky through a nearby window. “The others should be back soon. Oh-- I think I see Darius! He looks a bit… singed.”

The wizard entered moments later with scorch marks down the front of his fine robe, and one still-smoking eyebrow.

“Just waiting on Rodney the Pillock, then, are we?” asked Darius as he sat down at the table. “Figures. The only thing he cares about is his fucking church.”

“That’s not fair, Darius,” Hermia said. “He also cares about letting us know how much better he is up on his high horse.”

Harper and Darius burst into laughter.

“Be nice,” Gwenna admonished, but she hid a smile.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Hermia asked. “You smell like burning hair.”

Darius smoothed his hands down his ruined robe. “I caught on fire a little bit. Occupational hazard. It happens sometimes when you can shape the primal forces of creation and destruction with nothing more than your own arcane will.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Gwenna, nodding sagely.

Darius snorted. “Not really.”

Gwenna’s eyebrows rose into delicate arches. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hoo boy,” Hermia stage-whispered. “You did not just tell the bard that she doesn’t understand magic.”

“What? She doesn’t. I mean, yeah, she--you--she can cast some spells, but come on, it’s not similar at all. She _sings_. It’s not like she’s researching something useful or expanding human knowledge or anything like that.”

“Just because I’m a bard doesn’t mean I’m any less of a mage than you are. The blood of dragons, the most ancient magical creatures, flows through my veins. I have lived and breathed magic since I was born. So don’t tell me I don’t know magic.”

Darius opened his mouth to respond, but Rodney’s arrival cut him off.

“We’re all here,” said Rodney. “Good. the priest at the church didn’t have much to say, at least not about the Temple or the ruins. All he said was that none of the adventurers who tried to investigate the moathouse returned.”

“We knew that already,” said Gwenna. “I didn’t find out too much from Elmo either, but he did tell me how to get to the moathouse. We can set out early tomorrow. Harper, where did you go?”

“Talked to an old man with a bear. He seemed pretty nice-- the bear, I mean. He said that the Temple was destroyed a long time ago, which we knew. He also said that the moathouse was built as a sort of outpost for the Temple so the people of Hommlet could be enslaved. I guess the worshippers wanted to spread the Temple’s influence.”

“The bear told you all that?” Rodney asked.

Darius groaned. “No, you clod. The old man did.”

“Oh. Well, it was very ambiguous,” Rodney said defensively.

“Stop talking,” said Darius. “I actually found out some useful information about Zert.”

“Don’t look so smug. Spill it,” Hermia commanded.

Darius scowled at her. “Burne--he’s a wizard, like me, and _very_ powerful--” Darius shot a sidelong glance at Gwenna. “He said that Zert was the only one who made it back from the adventuring groups who investigated the old moathouse, which Tarnett told us earlier. But what Tarnett failed to mention is that Zert has been in town waiting for a specific trading caravan for a long time. As in _years_.”

“Is it normal for trading routes to take so long?” Hermia asked.

“Why? You think he’s lying about looking for a caravan?” said Gwenna

“Burne definitely had his suspicions,” Darius chimed in.

“Rodney, can you tell if an area is inhabited by an evil being just by looking at the area?” said Hermia.

“Sure, with a spell. The only reason I took up with you lot in the first place was because I checked to see if you were evil first.”

“Ordinarily I’d be offended, but in this case I know it’s not me, it’s you. Now come on, you should take a look at the dormitory and claim your bed before the other folks take up all the best ones.”

“Sorry, what?”

Gwenna caught on first. “Go on,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We’ve already gotten our beds.”

“Hmm? No, we-- oof!” Harper cut Darius off by elbowing him in the ribs. “Right, of course we have.” Darius glared at the other man and sourly rubbed his side.

Hermia rolled her eyes and led Rodney to the door she believed to be Zert’s. “Here. Work your magic. Does an evil person live here?”

“What about the dormitory?” Rodney asked.

“That was just an excuse to get you upstairs without looking suspicious. Do you have no concept of espionage?”

“The righteous have no need for sneaking or thieving,” said Rodney.

“Do the righteous have a need for proselytizing at every opportunity? Hurry it up, will you? Someone could see us, and I do not want to explain what we’re doing to an angry man with a very large sword, whether or not he is evil.”

“You cannot rush an instrument of divine will.”

“I’m not. I’m rushing you.”

“I understand that we are in a time-sensitive situation at the moment, but believe you me, we will be having words about this later.”

Hermia rolled her eyes. “ _Believe you me_ , I can’t wait. Evil. Detect it. Now.”

“You’re bossier than the bard,” Rodney mumbled as he turned to the door. One hand gripped his divine symbol, and the other twisted in a gesture that Hermia didn’t recognize but knew to be magical. Rodney whispered a brief prayer under his breath, and his eyes gleamed briefly. Hermia shivered. The spell was a simple one, as she understood, but even the smallest displays of power unnerved her.

Rodney only focused on the door for a brief moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d say that an evil person lives here.” He squinted at the unimpressed wood for a few more seconds. “It’s pretty faint, but it’s there. Which means that whoever lives here is evil enough to leave behind a taint, but it’s not especially strong.”

“Well, that’s kind of good for us, I suppose,” said Hermia. “Let’s get back down to the others before someone sees us.”

“Wait,” Rodney said, and he pulled the woman back to his side. “There’s something else. Not in the building, it’s too far away. Across the street, maybe? What’s out there?”

Hermia took a moment to orient herself. “A trading post, I think. I saw it on the way in, but we don’t really have any money, so I figured we could come back after we’ve cleaned out the moathouse.”

“There’s two of them. Two evil creatures. Their auras have stained their surroundings too, but I can still see them clearly.”

Hermia stood on her toes to squint at Rodney’s eyes. “That is so weird.”

“What is?” Rodney turned to look at her, and she ducked down to avoid his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’re not evil. I wasn’t joking before. I checked everyone before I agreed to travel with you. Come on, let’s tell the others.”

Hermia and Rodney found a beer and a simple dinner apiece waiting for them on the table downstairs. Gwenna had taken a spot near a corner of the room and was playing a jaunty tune on her lute. Harper paid her polite attention, but Darius scribbled on a roll of paper, not even feigning interest.

“Find anything?” Harper asked.

“The room that I think is Zert’s registered as evil,” said Hermia. “Nothing else in the building did, right?”

Rodney nodded. “Across the street, though, in the trading outpost, there’s two evil auras. Probably the traders, but I’m not sure.”

“Should we investigate now?” asked Darius.

Hermia considered briefly, then shook her head. “We should go to bed soon so we can get an early start tomorrow. Whoever it is will probably be here when we get back.”

That didn’t sit well with Rodney. “We should report this.”

“If you want to hike all the way out to the edge of town to tell the captain of the militia, be my guest,” said Hermia with a yawn.

“We need to tell someone,” Rodney insisted. “I’m going to go inform Calmert at the church. I’m sure he can notify Tarnett somehow.” He left without another word.

Gwenna’s upbeat music changed into a bawdy song, much to the patrons’ delight.

“Should we get Gwenna?” asked Darius.

“Do you really want to be the one to order her to bed?” Hermia said.

“Good point. I’m off, then.” Darius clomped upstairs, and Harper followed after a few minutes.

Hermia swiped Rodney’s untouched beer and joined the patrons clustered around Gwenna.

\---

Harper awoke the next morning to the enticing scent of bread fresh from the oven and still piping-hot. Gwenna was already tearing into a loaf, and she looked far too alert for having played lewd songs into the wee hours of the morning.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said as Harper blinked blearily. “Here, eat fast. We need to get started early.” She tossed over a bread roll.

“It _is_ early,” Harper grumbled.

“Right. We’re wasting daylight.” Gwenna glanced out the window. “Starlight.”

“I hate you so much right now, Gwenna,” Hermia said, rubbing her eyes.

“And you’d hate me even more if I didn’t get you all up in time and some other adventurers took our treasure. Eat.” Gwenna lobbed a roll at Hermia. “Rodney and Darius are already up. They’re preparing their spells for the day.”

Harper took a massive bite from his bread. It scalded his tongue, but he swallowed it down anyway as he strapped on his armor. “How do we get to the moathouse?” he asked.

“Elmo said that there’s a path on the eastern side of town,” said Gwenna. “We just follow that until we hit a crossroads, then we take a turn to the ruins.”

“Seems simple enough,” Hermia said around her own mouthful of bread. “When will Darius and Rodney get back?”

Gwenna cocked her head to one side. “About five seconds.”

“...name is Rodney the Pious, and you would do well to remember it, seeing as I will be the divine shield between the forces of evil and your scrawny arse,” Rodney said as he shoved Darius through the door. “And I still don’t think _pilgarlic_ is a real word.”

Darius snickered and adjusted his robe. “That only makes you even more of a pilgarlic.”

“Glad to see we’re all making friends,” Gwenna said. “Let’s leave. Now.”

Harper and Hermia quickly gathered their weapons, slung their packs over their shoulders, and followed Gwenna out into the crisp morning air.

“ _A scrub of thorns, thistles, weeds, and shrubs grows thickly along the edge of the track which leads to the ruins. Even the track is mostly overgrown and cluttered with fallen branches and trees. Here and there it is washed out, in other places a mire. Some game evidently still follows the pathway, however, for after a mile or so faint traces can be seen. But even considering this, going is slow, and it takes over two hours to trudge along on foot. Considerable hacking and clearing is necessary to make the way passable. After two miles, as the track turns more northerly, the land begins to sink and become boggy. Tall marsh plants grow thickly where cattails and tamaracks do not. Off to the left can be seen the jagged silhouette of the moathouse. A side path, banked high to cross over the wetland to either side, leads just north to the entrance of the ruin. The track here is only about 15 feet wide or so, with crumbling embankments making travel near the edge dangerous. The bogs stink. The vegetation appears dense and prolific, but somehow sickly and unhealthy, creepers and vines throwing their strangling loops over the skeletons of dead saplings and living bushes alike. The rushes and cattails rustle and bend even to a slight zephyr, and weird birdcalls, croaks, and other unwholesome sounds come faintly across the fen.”_

“That looks like the ruins to me,” said Gwenna.

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” Darius said. “We never would have figured that out otherwise.”

“You know, you’re right. Since you’re obviously the cleverest of us here and have so much experience with dungeon-delving, navigation, and scouting, why don’t you go first?”

Darius squirmed. “I think the cleric should go first. The clanking of his armor will draw the attention of every creature in there, and then all we’d have to do is sit in the shadows and pick them off.”

“Oh, honestly.” Hermia shouldered her way to the front of the group, picking her way carefully on the muddy path. “Let me go first.There might be traps.”

Gwenna nodded her assent. “Harper, you stay beside her so you have a clear path forward.”

_“The door is hanging open on one great hinge; the other is splintered and holed but still in position, wedged and shored closed from the inside.”_

The group made their way to the moathouse, and Hermia scanned the door carefully. “It looks safe,” she said, and she pushed it open. Sun streamed in through the open doorway, and rats skittered away from the light. “This looks like an entrance hall. I doubt there’s traps here.”

“Wouldn’t that just make it the best place to put traps?” said Darius

Hermia rolled her eyes. “No.”

“Why not? It makes sense to me. Put the traps right at the entrance to stop anyone from going further in.”

Hermia rounded on him. “Do I tell you how to prepare your spells in the morning? No. Now shut up and let me do my job.” Darius nodded, abashed, and she continued. “The traps wouldn’t be right at the entrance, because whoever put the traps up would know that we’d be more cautious at the beginning. The traps would be somewhere surprising, further in, after we’ve lowered our guard a bit.”

“But what if they knew you’d think that way, and they set up traps here where you wouldn’t expect it?” asked Gwenna.

“Look.” Hermia pointed to a stone stairway across the hall. “There’s tracks on the stairs. Someone passes through here pretty frequently. So, unless they’re dismantling and reconstructing the traps every time, I think it’s safe here. Well. Relatively safe.” Hermia scanned the doors that lined the hall. “Where first?”

Gwenna pointed at the left-most door. “There,” she said. “Can you check it?”

“I think I hear something.” Hermia pressed her ear against the half-rotted wood. Something’s moving behind this door.”

Gwenna knelt by the door and listened. “She’s right,” she said after a few moments. “Get in formation.”

“What formation?” asked Rodney.

“Honestly,” Darius said. “I don’t know how you manage to dress yourself in the morning. People with lots of armor in front. People with less armor in back. It’s not that complicated.”

Harper held his sword in front of him. “I’m going to open the door. Stand next to me, Rodney. Darius, prepare a spell. Ready?” He glanced behind him for confirmation, then threw the door open.

A massive snake, almost twice as long as Harper was tall, lay coiled on the floor on a pile of bedsheets. It reacted immediately to the interruption and reared up to attack, but Gwenna was faster. Her bow twanged, and two arrows whistled past Harper’s ear. They stuck fast in the snake but seemed to only enrage it further.

Harper yelled incoherently, and the edges of his vision blurred and ran red. The rest of the world faded: All that mattered was the enemy in front of him. He charged to the snake and rent a gash in its side almost as long as his torso. Hermia followed not far behind him. She sprang over the snake’s coils as it thrashed in agony and stabbed her rapier into the back of the creature’s head.

The snake twisted to lunge at Harper, and he shouted in pain as its fangs pierced through his cured hide armor. Hermia had been thrown clear of the battle, but Rodney appeared next to Harper and smashed his mace through the snake’s skull. It twitched a few times, its reptilian eyes rolling in its head, and a few barely-visible projectiles of force sprang from Darius’s fingertips and struck the monster. It gave one last jerk and lay still.

Harper sank to one knee, suddenly exhausted. The room spun, but whether from blood loss or some poison from the snake’s fangs, he couldn’t tell.

“Help me get this armor off him,” said Rodney from somewhere above, and Harper felt deft fingers at the buckles on his shoulders and sides. Rodney sucked a breath in through his teeth as he probed the wounds in Harper’s torso. Healing magic flowed from his palms, and Harper’s wounds knitted themselves together.

Harper squirmed at the strange sensation, but almost as soon as it began, it was over. “Let me just catch my breath,” he said. He stretched out on the stone floor, heedless of the filth and rot. His companions moved around him, but he paid them no mind.

“What was that?” Darius whispered. “What he did in the fight. It was like he wasn’t all there.”

“He went berserk,” replied Gwenna. “His kind do that sometimes in battle.”

“His kind?” Rodney said.

“Barbarians. Savages. Berserkers. The wildlings. It doesn’t really matter what you call them. They’re uncivilized, sometimes more beast than person, and people like Harper are a consequence of their lifestyle.”

“He’s never done that before.”

“I guess he’s never felt like he had to.”

“Is it dangerous? Like, to us?”

Harper struggled to sit up. “No,” he said. “I’m still in control when I fight like that. I’m not a danger to you.”

Gwenna nodded in agreement. “It’s true. We’re quite safe.”

Darius rooted around in the snake’s nest. “Hermia, come here,” he said after a few moments. Hermia moved to his side, and he pointed to a jeweled dagger glinting among the folds of cloth. “That look familiar to you?”

Hermia picked up the knife and tested its balance. She pulled her own dagger from her belt and compared the two side-by-side. “They’re the same,” she said. “This must have belonged to my father. He died here.”

“Was your father an adventurer?” Gwenna asked.

Hermia shook her head.

“Was he imprisoned here?”

Another shake.

“Hermia, why was your father here?”

“He was a cultist,” said Hermia. “One of the first. He helped build the original Temple.”

Rodney’s gauntleted forearm slammed into Hermia’s chest, and she found herself pinned to the wall and struggling for air. The daggers fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Why are you here?” Rodney demanded. “Are you joining the cultists? Are we your… sacrifices for initiation?”

“Don’t be daft,” said Gwenna. “You know she’s not evil.”

The pressure on Hermia’s throat eased slightly, and she took a gasping breath.

“She could still betray us,” Rodney said. “She could still follow in her father’s footsteps.”

“I just wanted to know what happened to him. For sure, I mean.”

Rodney lowered his arm, and Hermia sagged against the wall. “And what if he had still been alive?” he asked.

Hermia shrugged. “I probably would have killed him. He was an ass.”

“You’d kill your own father?” said Rodney.

“You would too, if you knew him. Come on, don’t look at me like that. He was exactly the kind of person you love to hate. He drank too much, he gambled, he stole, he murdered and tortured and raped.”

“But he was your father.”

“And now he’s dead.” Hermia picked up the two daggers, flicked a spot of dirt off one, and tucked them into her belt. “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this. He was a bad person. Would you have preferred that I were planning to turn on you and join the cultists like him?”

The question pulled Rodney up short. _Would_ he prefer that? Would he prefer Hermia to be traitorous or patricidal? He couldn’t answer.

“We might be killing cultists and bandits anyways,” Hermia continued. “Does it really matter if one of them happened to be my father?”

“I suppose it’s a moot point,” said Rodney. “Let’s keep moving.”

Gwenna led the group through a door to a dim hallway. Darius cast a quick spell, and a blue blob of light appeared, casting an eerie tinge across the flagstones. Two doors stood at their right and left, with another door on the left further down. “Hermia?” Gwenna whispered.

“Traps, got it.” Hermia gave both doors a cursory once-over. “No traps here.” She indicated the door on the right. “There’s something in there, though. It sounds like rats or something, but close to the ceiling.”

“Let’s check it,” said Gwenna. “Same formation as before.”

The group shuffled into position, and Harper pushed open the door. Darius’s light fell across a scene of methodical violence. The furniture in the room, once opulent, had been chopped to splinters, and the rich tapestries had been shredded and torn from the walls.

“I think it was some kind of sitting room,” said Gwenna. “You said there were noises up above?”

Hermia nodded.

“Darius, if you please?”

The light drifted closer to the ceiling, revealing a shifting, fluttering mass of leathery wings and beady eyes, and Rodney stiffened in surprise.

“Relax, it’s just bats,” Hermia said. “There’s nothing valuable here. Let’s move on.” She shut the door firmly behind her.

Hermia pushed the door across the hall open and slipped into the dark room, Darius’s light hovering above her head. “There’s nothing here either,” she said. “Just a bunch of ruined furniture.”

Gwenna peeked around the door. “Looks like a bedroom, probably for someone important. Check the armoire.”

_“Check the armoire,”_ Hermia mocked under her breath as she riffled through the charred cabinet. “Damn bossy bard and her damn fancy words.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Gwenna.

“Nothing!” Hermia brushed the ash from her knees and stood. “There’s nothing here.”

A ruined staircase lay opposite the door down the hall, the steps covered with splintered wood and shredded cloth. Darius floated his light up to the landing, which was completely choked with rubble.

“We can’t go up that way,” Gwenna said. “Let’s just check this room.”

“No traps,” said Hermia after a brief examination. “But it sounds like there’s rats. On the floor this time.”

Inside, a set of chairs was grouped around a table, and age-stained maps lined the walls.

“More garbage,” said Darius, kicking at a splintered cabinet. “All the treasure in this place has been taken away.”

“Maybe not,” Hermia said. “Behind that, look.” She reached behind the cabinet and pulled out a gleaming broadsword. “You want this, Harper?”

Harper took the sword and gave it a few experimental swings. “Feels good,” he said. “Anything else here?”

Hermia glanced around the room. “I don’t think so. Everything else in here is ruined.”

“Let’s keep moving then,” said Gwenna. “I don’t want to be here come nightfall.”

_“The upper portion of the tower has collapsed, and the interior is dark. This was once a great audience chamber, as shown by the tattered banners and tapestries on the walls, destroyed furniture, and heaps of rotting cloth thrown into corners. Once richly appointed, it has been thoroughly searched, sacked, and despoiled. Leaves and dirt cover the floor, and cobwebs hang from walls and the ceiling above. Looking up, you see that pieces of beams and chunks of stone poke through, indicating that the upper stories of the place are totally destroyed and likely to be impassable to anything larger than a rat.”_

“Hold that light steady, Darius,” Hermia murmured. “Ready your weapons.” She tiptoed across the filthy floor, all of her senses on high alert. The party followed, rather more loudly than she would have liked. Footsteps sounded above, and Hermia froze and held up her hand clenched into a fist. Rodney didn’t get the message; he crashed into her and almost sent them both clattering to the ground.

“Honestly!” Darius hissed. “Please make at least some effort to not be utterly incompetent.”

“No, don’t start with him.” Gwenna cut off Rodney’s retort. “Why did we stop?”

“I thought I heard something,” Hermia muttered. “Footsteps upstairs.”

Gwenna studied the collapsed upper floor. “There’s no way anything is up there. Must be an echo.”

Hermia nodded but didn’t look totally reassured.

Harper pushed the next door open, and hundreds of eyes glittered in the light. Hermia almost jumped back, but she reined herself in when she realized that the eyes were just glass. Stuffed and mounted heads covered the walls, and tattered furs littered the floor. Hermia shuddered in disgust.

Gwenna appeared to share the sentiment. “How vile,” she said. “Next room, shall we? Or would anyone like to root through this mess?”

No one was eager to examine the trophies more closely.

Darius’s floating light disappeared, and the party was swallowed by an oppressive darkness. “Damn,” Darius swore. “Does anybody have any torches? My spell ran out.”

“I’ve got something better,” said Gwenna. “Harper, give me your amulet.”

Harper fished under his armor for the amulet that he kept hidden against his skin, and Gwenna whispered something under her breath. The metal token began to shine with light, faintly at first then brighter, until the room was filled with a cheerful yellow glow.

“How did you know I had that?” Harper asked, examining the amulet with suspicion.

“I saw the outline when Rodney took your armor off to heal you. Don’t worry, it’ll go back to normal soon enough. Rodney is right, though, we should keep going.”

Harper donned the amulet once more and took his position next to Hermia.

“Thanks,” Darius said. “For the light, I mean. It’s--it’s a good light.”

Gwenna gave Darius an odd look. “Yes, I’m quite proud of it. It’s one of the best lights I’ve cast. Truly a pinnacle of magical achievement.”

“I’m just trying to make up for earlier.”

Gwenna took pity on him. “I know. Apology accepted.”

“There’s stairs to the basement through here,” Hermia said. “Want to clear out the rest of this floor, or should we head down?”

“We’ve barely found anything of value here,” said Gwenna. “I see no reason why the rest of the floor would be any different.”

“Wait,” Hermia said as the group passed through the door into what looked like a storeroom. “There’s something here. Something on the shelves--rats, I think. They’re all around us.”

“Group up,” said Gwenna. “Those are way too loud to be normal rats. Harper?”

Harper took off his amulet and held it nearer to the shelves. He jumped back at the sight of black beady eyes and sharp teeth. “Giant rats,” he said. “Get in formation and retreat to the door. Let’s not be stupid about this.”

Darius scoffed, but he quickly ducked his head and scurried to the doorway at a glare from Gwenna. Harper stood firm between the horde of rats and the rest of the group, and Gwenna nocked an arrow. Rodney positioned himself next to Harper and muttered a spell, and his mace glimmered with white light briefly

“Here they come,” said Hermia. She took a stance and prepared to strike with her rapier, but before she could act, Darius darted out from behind Harper and muttered a spell. Flames flew from his fingertips and washed over the rats, immediately killing several. Their corpses smoldered and filled the room with an acrid stench.

Hermia and Harper attacked almost in unison, and two more rats fell to their blades. One rat, even larger than the others, leaped at Rodney, but he caught the attack on his shield, and a single blow from his mace killed the oversized rodent. Gwenna peppered a huge slow rat in the back with arrows, and it collapsed before even jumping down from its shelf. The rodents edged closer, their teeth and eyes gleaming in the light from Harper’s amulet. The closest rat bit at Harper’s thigh, but he dodged out of the way just in time. Another rat scampered over Rodney’s feet and lunged toward Gwenna. It bit at her ankle before Rodney batted it away. Darius retreated further to the doorway, and Harper and Hermia struck again.

“How many more are there?” asked Hermia, panting.

Gwenna’s bow twanged, and the room fell silent. “That was the last of them.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Rodney asked. Everyone shook their heads. “We’ve been blessed with few injuries. Let’s hope it holds.”

“Blessing has nothing to do with it. We’re just that good,” said Darius.

Gwenna frowned. “Don’t get cocky, or you’ll start making mistakes. We still have to be cautious, even if it’s been easy.”

Hermia wiped her rapier off on a torn curtain and riffled through the contents of the dusty room. “It looks like a storeroom,” she said. “I found some lamp oil, but that’s it. May as well keep it, in case we find any lamps.”

“I suppose it could be useful,” said Gwenna doubtfully. “At least, for those of us without magic.” She glanced at Hermia and Harper.

“I couldn’t imagine,” Darius said, dusting off his robes.

Hermia glared. “Let’s just keep moving, shall we?” She made her way down the stairs, treading lightly, but halfway through she stopped. A gold ring was wedged in between the step and the wall where a careless mason had cut the step to the wrong size. Hermia fished it out and squinted at it. “Doesn’t look special,” she said, and she pocketed it. “Still, it’s probably worth something.”

A distant rattling echoed as the party approached the arched door at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s that?” asked Darius.

Hermia shrugged. “Could be anything. Probably just some wind outside blowing over some rubble.”

Darius nodded his acceptance, but he still looked uneasy.

“Careful here,” said Hermia as she passed through the arch. “Someone put green slimes on the ceiling, probably as some kind of trap. Don’t walk directly under them and you’ll be fine.”

The room at the bottom of the stairs was filled with heaps of rubble and broken furniture. Two doors stood on the western side of the room, the tops just barely visible behind the piles of junk. A corridor with pillars running down the center extended to the south.

“We can’t get through those doors,” Gwenna decided. “Let’s see what’s down the hallway.”

Hermia halted the party as they approached the arch that led to the hall. “I hear something in there. It sounds like someone is shuffling or dragging their feet.”

“Fighting formation then,” said Gwenna. “Be ready for multiple enemies.”

The party grouped up behind Harper and Rodney and made their way down the corridor. As they neared another arch on one side, a clammy, rotten hand grabbed at Darius’s robe and held tight. Darius turned in alarm and stumbled backward, freeing himself from the creature’s grasp.

Two zombies stood in the hallway, their maggot-infested flesh hanging off their bones. The sight of their empty eye sockets and lipless mouths made Darius want to retch. Harper reacted first, staving the creature’s head in with one strike from his greatsword. The other zombie lunged toward Rodney, who caught the blow on his shield. Rodney swung his mace into the zombie’s side with a sickening crunch, and it staggered but didn’t fall. Gwenna’s arrows tore chunks of putrid flesh off the zombie, but it barely seemed to notice. Hermia slashed at the zombie as it stumbled by her. A rent opened in its greying skin, but no blood spilled forth. Hermia cursed and retreated, desperately searching in her backpack. Just as another blow from Harper decapitated the creature, two more zombies stumbled out from a cell in the wall.

“Damnit,” said Darius. “How many more of them are there?”

“Draw them out,” Rodney said. “Get them in the open so I can turn them.”

Gwenna ran down the corridor, opening the previously-ignored cell doors. “Be brave, my friends, and face the fight; our enemies will fall before our might,” she sang. “They break themselves upon our shields, so fight with me now, and never we yield!” Her heart swelled with courage. A small horde of zombies filled the hallway, and Rodney held forth his amulet of St. Cuthbert.

“Begone,” he shouted. “In the name of the mighty St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel, I command you to return to death!” Rodney’s amulet flashed with light, and scorch marks appeared on the zombies, remnants of holy fire. “They’re stronger than I thought. That should have destroyed them.”

“It hurt them, though,” said Hermia. “That’s good. We can work with that.” She fished a small wooden club out of her backpack and repositioned herself next to Rodney, just in range to strike at the still-advancing zombies. Harper charged forward and decapitated a pair of the nearest creatures with two swings of his greatsword. Another zombie fell to the combined efforts of Hermia and Gwenna, and Darius cast a spell that coated the flagstones under the remaining zombies with grease. Several zombies slipped, rather comically Darius thought, and Rodney crushed another’s skull, splattering the nearby wall with blood. Bits of rotting brain matter clung to the head of his mace, and he stared at it in disgust for a moment before turning away another clumsy attack with his shield.

“There’s so many of them,” Darius said. “I don’t want to burn through all my spells.”

“We’re making headway,” said Gwenna. “Don’t you have a crossbow?”

“It’s as good as useless against these things. The bolts will just go right through them like your arrows.”

“Any contribution to the fight would be great right about now,” said Hermia. A zombie landed a hit squarely on her jaw, and she yelped in pain.

“But I can’t--” Darius started, but Hermia interrupted.

“Just fucking shoot something already,” she said. “What the hell is your problem? You made them all fall down, isn’t that just bloody great. Now finish them off.”

Darius gulped and fumbled for his crossbow. He clumsily loaded a bolt, took aim, and fired at a zombie advancing on Gwenna. Two arrows were already protruded from its chest, and the bolt stuck fast in its neck with a nauseating squelch. Gwenna kicked the zombie out of the way as it fell to its knees. Harper repositioned himself and stabbed his greatsword down through the skulls of two prone zombies, killing both instantly.

The magical grease dissolved away, and the remaining zombies started to rise. Rodney and Hermia took one down before it could stand, and Gwenna and Darius shredded another. The final remaining zombie landed a square hit on Harper’s chest, the bones in its wrist breaking with an audible snapping noise, before Harper cleaved it from its shoulder to its waist.

Hermia leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. “What was that?” she demanded of Darius after catching her breath.

“What was what?”

“That, just now. You didn’t want to use your crossbow. You’d rather stand around like a limp noodle while we’re all fighting for our lives. What the hell?”

“I just didn’t think it would be that useful is all. I mean, Gwenna was barely tickling them.”

“ _Something_ is still better than _nothing._ ”

“Can’t we just keep moving?”

“No,” said Gwenna. She moved to stand by Hermia. “I want an explanation, too. If you won’t fight like that, you put us all in danger.”

Darius laughed. “We’re adventurers. We’re always in danger.”

Rodney moved to examine the bruise forming on Gwenna’s jaw, but she brushed him away. “We need to know if we can trust you to back us up in battle.”

“You should know by now that you can trust me. If you don’t, then why are we here?”

“Why were you so reluctant to shoot?” demanded Gwenna.

Darius sighed. “I’ve never been in a fight that I couldn’t resolve with my magic. When I had to use the crossbow, it meant that I’m not powerful enough.”

Gwenna’s frown softened. “Everyone has to start somewhere,” she said. “Even the most powerful wizards used to be like us. Maybe when you get back you can ask Burne if he’s ever had to use a crossbow. I’ll bet you ten gold that he has.”

Darius looked down at the weapon in his hands. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I hate to say it, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to clear this place out in one go,” said Hermia. “Rodney and Darius have to be running low on spells, and we have no idea how much further this dungeon goes.”

Gwenna nodded reluctantly. “Let’s keep pushing just a little longer. We can make camp in the woods nearby, rest up for the day, and tackle the rest of this place in the evening.”

“These monsters might be more tired after a long day of pillaging,” said Rodney. “It would make them easier to kill.”

“There’s a blood trail here,” said Hermia. “It looks fresh.” She followed the faint drops along the floor until they ended abruptly at a stone pillar. “It stops here.”

“Search the pillar,” Gwenna said.

Hermia rolled her eyes but did as she was told. It took only seconds for her to find the pressure plate at the base of the pillar. A chunk of stone on the side of the pillar slid aside with the rasp of stone grinding against stone, revealing a set of iron rungs descending into darkness. The group gathered around, staring down into the passage.

“I don’t like the look of that,” said Gwenna.

“Smells bad, too,” Harper added. Darius looked askance at him. “You don’t smell it? It’s… stale. Foul.”

“The rungs look worn,” Hermia pointed out. “It’s definitely not disused.”

“All the more reason for us not to take that way,” Gwenna decided. “We wouldn’t want to be trapped in there with enemies above and below. Can you close it up?”

Hermia nodded and pressed the pressure plate once more. “There. Good as new. Totally secret. Unless anyone heard that din we made.”

A meaty thump sounded from beyond the door to their left, followed by heavy shuffling footsteps and the clanking of chains. Harper drew his sword and moved to the door, but no other noises were forthcoming.

“Form up,” whispered Gwenna. She nocked an arrow.

Harper pushed open the door, and the party let out a collective sigh at the reveal of a room full broken furniture and piles of junk.

“Brilliant,” said Darius. “More shit. Honestly, I don’t know why we even--” Another thump from beyond the door at the far end of the room cut him off.

“Shut up,” Rodney hissed. He laid a hand on Harper’s shoulder and whispered a prayer. A faint magical field shimmered into existence around Harper. “You’ll be harder to hit now,” said Rodney.

“Thanks,” Harper said. “How long will it last?”

“Not long. Let’s go.” Rodney pushed the door open.

Behind the door sat a huge ogre, easily over eight feet tall. His clothes hung off his filthy body, and Hermia had to fight not to retch at the smell. Darius muttered a spell, and the floor beneath the ogre turned slick with grease. The ogre tried to rise, but he couldn’t find his footing, and Harper dealt him a massive blow with his greatsword. Hermia circled around and slashed at the ogre’s back. The creature bellowed in anger and swiped at Harper’s knees, knocking him to the ground with a teeth-rattling thud, and Rodney quickly hauled him to his feet. Gwenna put two arrows in the ogre’s eye as he struggled to stand, and Hermia took the opportunity to launch herself onto the ogre’s lumpy back. She landed heavily on the ogre’s shoulder blades, forcing him back to the ground, and slit his throat.

A muffled squeak from a heavy oak door to the right drew Harper’s attention. “Get behind me,” he whispered. “There might be more.” He pushed the door open, greatsword at the ready, but he immediately relaxed. “It’s alright. Just some prisoners.”

Two young men huddled against a wall, shrinking away from the light from Harper’s amulet, and a gnome lay unconscious on a pile of bloody rags in a corner.

“It’s okay,” Gwenna said. “We’re not going to hurt you. My name is Gwenna. Who are you?”

“I’m Martin,” said one of the men, “and this is Glynn. We’re merchants. The gnome--I don’t know who she is. She hasn’t said much.” While he spoke, Rodney knelt by the gnome and pulled his medicine kit from his backpack.

“Some of those cuts look bad,” Rodney said. “I can try to stop the infection, but she needs healing.” He set about mixing a poultice and dressing the worst of the gnome’s wounds.

Rodney’s tenderness surprised Darius. Perhaps he wasn’t all overzealous bluster, after all.

“We’re from Dyvers,” said Glynn. “Can you get us out of here? We’ll pay you. We’re not the wealthiest of men, but…”

“Of course.” Gwenna cut him off. “We need to rest as well. We’ll escort you to Hommlet and pay for a room at the inn.”

“What happened to resting for the day and coming back in the evening?” Hermia asked.

“We can still come back,” said Gwenna. “It’ll just be a bit later than we planned. If we’re late enough, we could catch them asleep.”

“I don’t think we should go all the way back to Hommlet,” Darius argued. “If we stay near here, we might be able to disrupt any raiding groups that leave or return.”

“She needs more medical attention than I can provide right now,” said Rodney, indicating the gnome. “I want to take her back to the Church of St. Cuthbert. They’ll be able to heal her.”

“We could split up,” Hermia said. “Rodney can take Glynn, Martin, and the gnome back to Hommlet, and the rest of us can make a camp in the woods nearby.”

“I hate to divide the party,” said Gwenna, “but it might be our best option. I’ll go back with Rodney as well, just in case we encounter anyone on the road. We’ll meet back up with you as soon as we can.”

Rodney hoisted the still-unconscious gnome in his arms and stood. The party slowly picked their way up out of the dungeons and out of the moathouse. Hermia scouted around and found a sparse grove of trees to set up camp, and Gwenna and Rodney set off down the road back to Hommlet, followed by the merchants.

Midway to Hommlet, the gnome in Rodney’s arms coughed weakly. Rodney lowered her to the ground and helped her to sit. “My name is Rodney the Pious,” he said. “I’m taking you to Hommlet. You’re out of the moathouse. You’re safe.”

“Water,” the gnome rasped. “Do you have water?”

Gwenna fished her waterskin from her backpack and held it to the gnome’s lips. The gnome drank deeply, almost draining the waterskin. “Thank you,” she said when she was done. “I thought I was going to die in there.”

“What’s your name?” asked Rodney.

“Maratra,” the gnome said.

“Did you know the men who were imprisoned with you?” said Gwenna.

Maratra shook her head. “I got caught by some gnolls while spying on this place. The men--they’re merchants, right?-- they were in there already when I was nabbed.”

“They’re here too,” Rodney said.

“Good. They were good to me in there. I’m glad they didn’t get eaten.”

“We’re glad we didn’t get eaten, too,” said Martin over Rodney’s shoulder.

Maratra hacked out a laugh, which brought on a coughing fit. Gwenna passed her the waterskin again, and she sipped the few remaining mouthfuls.

“Can you walk?” Rodney asked.

Maratra gingerly stood. “I think so,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like anything is broken.”

“We should be on our way then,” said Gwenna. “We’ll get you food and a room at the inn when we get to Hommlet.”

“And I think you should go to the Church of St. Cuthbert,” Rodney added. “They’ll be able to heal you there.”

“Seems to me that I’ve already gotten some healing,” Maratra said. “Time will do the rest.”

“I bound your wounds, but that might not be enough,” argued Rodney. “Some of the cuts are infected, and who knows what kind of diseases are in that place.”

“Gnomes are hardier than the rest of you think,” Maratra said. She thumped a closed fist against Rodney’s armor to prove the point. “I’ll be fine, really.”

Rodney frowned but acquiesced, and the rest of the walk to Hommlet was quiet. As the village came into view, Maratra pulled Rodney aside and pulled a iron ring off her finger. “I want to give you this ring. Don’t worry, it’s a sign of friendship among the gnomes in this area,” she said, catching Rodney’s slightly panicked look. “It marks you as an ally.”

“I--wow,” said Rodney as he took the tiny ring. “Thank you.” The ring wouldn’t fit even on his smallest finger, so he unclasped his amulet of St. Cuthbert and threaded the chain through the ring. “This means a lot to me.”

Maratra eyed Rodney’s symbol. “I can tell.”

“Everything okay back there?” Gwenna called out from ahead.

“Fine,” Maratra answered.

“--and here’s some gold for a few nights at the inn and some meals,” Gwenna was saying as Rodney and Maratra caught up. “You should be able to buy some new clothes as well.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “We’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for this.”

Gwenna smiled modestly, but Rodney could see she was pleased. “We’ll need to be back on our way to the moathouse soon,” she said. “Do you know anything that might help us?”

Maratra shook her head, but Glynn spoke. “When we--Martin and I, I mean--were first captured, we were taken to a man named Lareth. He said he was the new Master and he invited us to join the cult.”

“We told him we’d rather die than serve him, and he laughed and told us that that could be arranged,” added Martin.

Gwenna rolled her eyes. “How melodramatic. What’s he like?”

“Charming,” Glynn said. “Younger than you’d think. And sadistic. He was planning to torture us. From what he said, being eaten by an ogre would have been a mercy.”

Martin clapped Glynn on the back. “We’re out now, and we’ll be forever grateful.”

“Go get some food and rest,” Rodney said. “If you need healing, go to the Church of St. Cuthbert and tell them it’s a favor for me.”

The merchants and Maratra made their way to the inn, and Gwenna and Rodney turned around and set off back down the path to the moathouse.

“I’m glad we were able to help them,” Gwenna said. “Obviously clearing out the moathouse is helpful for the whole village, but this feels more direct, somehow.”

Rodney nodded. “It’s nice to be able see the positive impact your actions have on people.”

“Is that why you became a cleric?” asked Gwenna. “So you could help people?”

“No. I was raised in a church. I never had much choice in the matter.”

Gwenna scoffed at that.

“What?” asked Rodney, affronted. “The decision was made for me since before I could walk.”

“Don’t play the victim. You’re no sorcerer or oracle; you weren’t born with your powers. Every time you pray, you make a choice to receive magic from your god. You have to earn your spells every day, and that’s something that you can be proud of.”

“I can’t just not pray to St. Cuthbert.”

“Yes you can. I don’t recommend it, especially not now when we need every advantage we can get in that hellhole, but you _can_. You have free will, and the only thing imposing restrictions on your choices is yourself.”

“But if I don’t pray, I’ll lose my powers.”

Gwenna shrugged. “Well, yeah. Your choices aren’t free of consequences. I would think a priest of St. Cuthbert would know all about consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that St. Cuthbert’s followers take way too much joy in punishing anyone who doesn’t follow their religion.”

“That’s not fair. I haven’t punished you, have I?”

“You mean aside from your immediate and lasting prejudice against us, you scanning us to make sure we’re not evil, and your constant attempts to convert us on the journey here?”

“That’s not punishment,” Rodney argued. “Punishment is flogging or imprisonment. I was just being cautious. Besides, you all are hostile to me too.”

“You have to admit, being assumed to be evil and amoral just because you don’t follow the religion that someone else says you should is a bit off-putting.”

“You just said I have free will. I don’t have to admit to anything.”

Gwenna rolled her eyes. “You sound like a petulant child. You have power, a lot more than most, and you _earned_ it. You can be proud of that fact and make a positive impact on the world, or you can whine that people don’t like you after you treat them like shit. Or, of course, you can do neither. At this point I really don’t care.”

Rodney decided his best course of action for the time was silence, and he didn’t speak until he and Gwenna reached Hermia’s little camp.

“How was the trip?” Harper asked.

“Uneventful,” said Gwenna. “They’re at the inn. Martin and Glynn told us about the new Master, a man named Lareth. He tried to recruit them, but they refused.”

“Is there any way we could use that to our advantage?” Hermia said. “Like, pretend that we want to join the cult so we can get an audience with him, then stab him in the back?”

“It could work,” said Darius. “But we did kill a bunch of stuff on the way there. He might not be too happy about that.”

Gwenna pondered for a moment. “Maybe we could spin that positively. What have we killed? A bunch of vermin that were probably just as threatening to his men as they were to us? We were just helping him clean out his new home. No one wants zombies in the foyer.”

“That’s not half-bad, actually,” said Hermia.

“Let me do the talking,” Gwenna said. “And we’ll be just fine.”

The group struck the camp eight hours later, fully rested and prepared for an evening of adventuring. Nothing had entered or left the moathouse, though Gwenna supposed that the inhabitants might know of a back entrance. Hermia and Harper led them cautiously back through the ruins, unhindered except by a pack of large rats that cornered Darius against a wall and tore the hem of his robe. The corpse of the ogre still lay in a stinking heap, and vermin scurried away from it as the party approached. Up ahead, the hallway split, and Hermia decided on the right-hand path after a few moments of dithering. “Quietly,” she said. “I hear something behind the door to the right. I’d rather save our strength for Lareth.” The group edged around the side of the room, and Gwenna’s heart caught in her throat when Rodney stumbled. He caught himself before he crashed to the ground, but his armor clinked against the stone walls. Whatever was carousing behind the wooden door on the opposite side of the room didn’t seem to notice, however, and the party got through the room unscathed.

The hallway split again, and after some bickering, Gwenna decided to go left because they had gone right last time. Darius thought that her logic wasn’t entirely sound, but he had no desire to argue with her again. Her choice, misguided though it may have been, proved to be the correct one. A man who could only have been a guard stopped them almost immediately, his crossbow raised.

“Halt!” the guard shouted. “Identify yourselves.”

Gwenna stepped to the front, noting with satisfaction that Rodney had had the foresight to tuck away his symbol of St. Cuthbert. “I’m Gwenna. That’s Darius, Harper, Rodney, and this here is Hermia.” She indicated each of her companions in turn. “We’re interested in joining.”

The crossbow wavered. “Joining?”

“Joining, yes, that’s what I said. Honestly, is everyone here as thick as you? No wonder this place is such a shithole.”

“Watch it,” said the guard. “You’ll have to talk to the Master if you want to join.”

“Yes please,” Gwenna said.

Another guard popped his head out of a nearby room. “Everything okay--” he began before catching sight of the party at crossbow-point. He grabbed a spear from somewhere behind him and thrust the end in Gwenna’s face, ignoring her exasperated sigh. “Who’re they?” he asked his fellow.

“My recruitment quota for the next three months,” the first guard said smugly.

“Where did you find them?”

“Right here.”

The second guard looked the party up and down. “Are you completely out of your mind? They’re obviously adventurers.”

Hermia pulled one of the two jeweled daggers from her belt. The guards flinched, but she merely held the weapon out for inspection. “Recognize this?” she said.

The guard with the spear nodded. “I saw it in the room where Jiera was killed by that snake,” he said to his fellow.

“It belonged to my father,” said Hermia. “He built this place. He would be ashamed to see the state it’s in now. Filth and vermin everywhere, barely livable.” She presented the other dagger side by side with the first. “This one is mine. I’ve come to finish my father’s work. Take us to the Master.”

The second guard looked to the first, who deliberated for several tense moments before giving a curt nod. “This way, then,” he said, and he led them down a dank hallway into a barracks room. The black-garbed soldiers within turned and stared, and a tall woman stood up from polishing her weapons and strode across the room.

“Prisoners?” she asked.

“Recruits,” corrected the first guard.

“Potential recruits, anyways,” the second amended. “It’s up to the Master to decide.”

“He’s busy right now,” said the woman.

The second guard pointed to Hermia. “You, show her the knives.” Then, addressing the woman: “She claims to be the daughter of one of the men who built the moathouse.”

Hermia produced the two daggers, but the woman only glanced at them briefly before studying Hermia’s face.

“She does have the look of one of the portraits we found,” the woman mused. “Come to follow in your father’s footsteps, have you?”

Hermia nodded and tucked the daggers away. “I always admired my father’s devotion to the cause. If I can contribute even half as much as he did, I would be pleased.”

The woman seemed to come to a decision. “Let’s go see the Master, then,” she said. “I am sure he will be able to put you and your companions to use.”

Gwenna bristled at being referred to as one of Hermia’s companions, but Hermia shot her a warning glance, and she forced her anger down.

“I’ll take them from here,” the woman said to the guards.

“But I found them!” protested the first guard. “They should be part of my quota!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll make sure Lareth knows who to give credit to.”

“I don’t think she even knows my name,” the first guard lamented as the woman led the party out of the barracks.

The Master’s chambers were a stark contrast to the rest of the moathouse. Lareth had spared no expense when filling his room with every comfort he could want. The uneven flagstones were covered with a plush rug, and the walls were draped in richly colored tapestries. Comfortable-looking chairs and sofas stood grouped around low tables laden with fruits, sweetmeats, and wine. A brazier hanging near the ceiling in the middle of the room filled the space with a warm fragrance.

“Katrin! I told you I was not to be disturbed.” A handsome, dark-haired man who could only be Lareth rose from a chair in the corner, his plate armor gleaming in the flickering light. He held a quarterstaff in one hand, though he did not lean on it.

“Sorry, sir, but this is a matter that requires your attention,” said the woman. “These adventurers want to join our ranks.”

“Do they indeed?” Lareth said. He swept nearer. “They don’t look very promising.”

“Judging by the state of things out there, you need all the help you can get,” said Gwenna. “This place is a dump. Rats and zombies, and I hear the giant snake upstairs even killed one of your soldiers. We took care of it for you. You’re welcome.”

“You’re incredibly self-important and rather annoying,” Lareth said. “Please stop talking.” He addressed Katrin. “I’ve half a mind to kill that one, even if we let the others join.”

Katrin shoved Hermia forward so hard that the shorter woman stumbled. “Apparently this one’s father is in one of the portraits upstairs.”

“I know which one you’re talking about. There is a family resemblance,” Lareth said. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Her--” squeaked Hermia. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hermia.”

“And why do you want to join?” Lareth asked.

“I want revenge,” Hermia said. “I want to hurt everyone who’s ever hurt me. I want to sacrifice them to the Abyss.”

“What about the rest of you?” said Lareth. “Why are you here?”

Gwenna was the first to speak. “I want to command the elements and bring ruin to my enemies.”

“I want power,” said Rodney next. “I want to rule.”

Harper shrugged. “Mostly, I just want to kill things.”

Lareth looked at Darius, who had fished a piece of string and a bit of wood out of the pouch at his waist and was absorbed in tying a knot in the string. “Oh, is it my turn?” said Darius, looking up from his task. “I want to close and bar that door over there.”

The door slammed shut and the bar thunked into place. “Guards!” Katrin shouted, but it was too late. The party drew their weapons, and Lareth held his hands up in surrender.

“The guards will kill you,” said Lareth. “It’s hopeless, even if you can kill me. Look, you’re clever and resourceful, that much is clear. And you have potential. Let me help you. The powers of elemental evil can make you stronger than you can imagine.”

Harper’s only response was a yell of rage. He swung his greatsword wildly at Katrin, connecting just above her gauntlet. Lareth took a quick step back and stared hard at Darius. “Hold,” he instructed, but Darius shrugged off the spell. Gwenna hummed a short melody, seamlessly weaving music and magic, and moved back from the fray so she had a clear shot at both Lareth and Katrin. Lareth went down on one knee when Darius greased the floor beneath his feet with a spell.

“Barricade the door,” Darius instructed his unseen servant. “Drag anything you can move in front of it.”

Katrin glanced at the door, but before she could move, Rodney blocked her path, presenting his symbol of St. Cuthbert. “Approach,” he commanded, and Katrin moved past Hermia and Harper to stand in front of Rodney. Hermia took the opportunity to stab her rapier into a gap in Katrin’s armor, and Harper attacked twice, nearly knocking the woman over. Lareth took a quick step back and cast a spell before anyone could react. Darkness flickered from his quarterstaff like some strange inverse torch, and the room grew dimmer. Gwenna shot twice at Lareth, but one arrow went wide in the darkness. Darius shouted a spell, and a wall of roiling black smoke appeared around Lareth. “Keep him in there,” he hissed to Rodney.

Rodney saw that his companions were dealing with Katrin quite handily and instead hurried to Lareth. Lareth made a pathetic attempt to strike at Rodney’s knees, but he was still trapped the wall of smoke. He stood in the middle, unable to do anything but cough and retch.

The spell holding Katrin in place wore off, and she rounded on Harper, slicing a long wound down his arm. Hermia stabbed her again from behind but only seemed to enrage Katrin further. Harper retaliated immediately, slipping in under Katrin’s shield and knocking the sword from her hand. Lareth stepped backward a few feet but was overcome by a fit of coughing and could move no further.

Katrin reached for the dagger at her belt, but a quick spell from Gwenna made it stick fast. In the time it took her to break the magical glue and draw her weapon fully, Hermia and Harper had each gotten in an attack. Darius gestured, and Lareth’s staff was suddenly coated in a sheen of grease. It slid out of his hands and clattered to the floor. Rodney darted to the wall, ripped a tapestry from its hangings, and threw it over the quarterstaff. The darkness flowing from the staff immediately vanished and the room brightened once more. Katrin deflected Hermia’s lunge, but a mighty strike from Harper put a dent in her armor.

“Hold,” said Lareth again. The wall of smoke had dissipated, and his voice boomed with divine power. Harper stopped in his tracks, struggling to even speak. Mindful of Rodney’s mace, Lareth took a step back. Gwenna shot two arrows at Lareth, but one clanged harmlessly off his breastplate.

Darius pulled out his crossbow with an expression of distaste and fired a bolt at Lareth, which just barely grazed his cheek. Rodney slammed his mace into Lareth’s side with a clang, and Katrin knocked Harper over with a blow to his shoulder. Harper lay on the ground, wheezing but still immobile.

“Bitch,” spat Hermia, and she ran her rapier through Katrin’s throat. Katrin slumped to the ground, dead, and Hermia ran to Harper’s side. “Are you okay?”

Harper finally shook off the effects of Lareth’s spell. “Not really,” he said. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“Rodney!” Hermia shouted. “Harper needs healing.”

“Now really isn’t a good time,” Rodney said through gritted teeth. Lareth had taken a step back and created a shimmering silver barrier around himself, and Gwenna and Darius seemed unable to raise their weapons against him.

“He’ll die if you don’t heal him now,” Hermia insisted. Harper slipped into unconsciousness, as if to prove her point.

“ _Fine,_ ” said Rodney. He stepped backward carefully without taking his eyes off Lareth until he reached Harper’s side.

Harper felt his wounds stitching themselves back together, and his skin crawled with magic. He coughed a few times and sat up. “Give me a moment,” he said. “I’ll be fine soon. I just need a moment.” Rodney nodded and stood. Hermia moved to a position behind Lareth, who eyed her suspiciously, and Harper stood after a few seconds. He strode to Lareth and raised his greatsword in slightly shaky arms.

Lareth sidestepped just out of range of Harper’s and Hermia’s blades and quickly healed himself before raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I yield,” he said. “You win. Let me offer a ransom for my life.”

“I’m listening,” said Hermia without lowering her rapier. She, Harper, and Rodney repositioned themselves, trapping Lareth against a high-backed armchair.

“I have gold and jewelry,” Lareth said. “It’s yours, all of it, if you let me live.”

“What will you do if we let you go?” asked Rodney.

Lareth shrugged. “Run and hide, mostly. I’d be hunted across the continent. Maybe I’ll live for a year before agents of Lolth find me. They’d kill me for betraying her, of course. To Lolth, surrender is treachery.”

“Lolth?” Darius asked.

“A vile demoness,” said Rodney. “She is known as the Queen of Spiders.”

“Think about it,” Lareth said. “I’m not just trying to save my life. I’m trying to preserve yours as well.” He gestured to the barricaded door. “You think that just because you’ve killed me, my soldiers will accept defeat and let you go? They’re fearless and eternally loyal. You’re not getting out of here alive unless I say so.”

“We’ll kill them too,” said Gwenna, but she looked uncertain.

Lareth smiled and shook his head. “You’re hurt from the battle. Dear Katrin put up quite a fight, didn’t she? She always was a tough one. I’ll miss her.”

“Not for long,” Harper growled, and he cut through the silver barrier like butter. Lareth, trapped, tried desperately to heal himself, but an attack from Hermia interrupted his spell. Gwenna put two arrows in Lareth’s leg, and even Darius’s bolt struck true.

“Wait! There’s something--” Lareth held up his hands again in a last futile attempt at surrender, but Rodney knocked them aside and dealt Lareth a killing blow. Lareth’s armor clattered against the ground as it fell, leaving a sudden silence in the room. For the first time, the sounds of the soldiers outside trying to break down the door became audible.

“How are we going to get out?” asked Darius. “There’s a dozen soldiers out there. I counted.”

“It’s a narrow hallway,” Rodney said. “They can’t all attack us at once.”

“Another brilliant observation from Rodney the Pinhead,” said Darius. “They have _crossbows._ ”

“We could use the barricade as cover,” Gwenna said before Rodney could retaliate. “I can shoot around it, Rodney and Harper can take out the soldiers nearest to us. I’ll focus on the ones in the back. Darius, do you have any spells left?”

“Only cantrips,” said Darius.

“It might be best if you just stick to shooting your crossbow for now,” said Gwenna. Darius nodded, a sour look on his face, but he immediately brightened.

“I have some alchemist’s fire,” Darius said. “Not much, just a few bottles.”

The door buckled inward with an ominous crunch, and the barricade shifted slightly. Harper hauled a chair out of the way and readied himself to strike. One of the planks in the center of the door broke, and Harper viciously stabbed his sword through the hole it left. He heard a scream on the other side, and his blade came back red. Rodney hauled him out of the way as another thud of the battering ram outside sent splinters flying.

“You need to be more careful,” Rodney said. “I don’t have many more healing spells left in me.”

“I’m fine,” said Harper. He stabbed his greatsword through the widening gap in the door again, but it connected with nothing. Darius lobbed a flask of alchemist’s fire, which hit a soldier and shattered. The man was doused in a violent green-blue flame, and he fell to his knees with a thump.

The door finally broke, but the barricade still held. Gwenna aimed through a gap in the pile of furniture and took out two crossbowmen in the back.

“Give me some of that alchemist’s fire,” Hermia said. “My sword is useless here.” Darius passed her a flask, and she tossed it over Harper’s head. The hallway lit up again with an eerie greenish light as another soldier caught fire.

Harper shoved an armchair out of his way and advanced toward the nearest guard, but he took a crossbow bolt to the shoulder and flinched back. Gwenna shot two more soldiers, killing one outright and dropping the other to his knees. The guards nearest Harper stabbed at him with their spears, but the weapons harmlessly glanced off his armor. Hermia and Darius each threw another flask of alchemist’s fire, and suddenly the hallway was much less crowded.

“We might actually get out of this,” Gwenna said, and two more soldiers fell to her arrows. Harper swung at a guard in front of him, but she dodged out of the way and retaliated with a vicious stab of her spear that caught Harper in the thigh. His leg gave out, and Rodney dragged him backward. Harper’s assailant shoved the rest of the barricade out of the way, and another soldier shouldered his way into the room, only to be splattered with alchemist’s fire.

“That’s the last of it,” Darius said. “How many more are there?”

Gwenna shot twice. “None.”

“How’s Harper?” asked Hermia.

Rodney looked up from where he knelt by Harper. “Not great. That last stab nearly hit bone. I’ve stabilized him, but he’ll have a hard time walking until he gets more healing.” He turned to address Harper. “I told you to be more careful.”

“I was being careful,” Harper protested.

“I’m going to go scout ahead,” said Gwenna. “If I get caught, I’ll signal the rest of you by screaming in terror.” She tiptoed out of the room, and Hermia and Darius spent the next several minutes stuffing their packs with everything valuable that would fit. “There’s no one out there,” Gwenna said when she returned. “And I think I’ve found the way out.”

“Thank the gods,” breathed Hermia. She and Rodney hauled Harper to his feet, and they followed Hermia at a limp up a gently slanting corridor.

“I feel a breeze,” Darius said partway through.

“There’s still a bit of a ways to go,” said Gwenna. “But we’re getting closer.”

After another few minutes of walking, the corridor ended in a narrow opening. The mid-afternoon sun was shockingly bright after the dankness of the moathouse.

“We made it,” sighed Hermia with relief.

The road back to Hommlet was quiet. After a time, Harper was able to walk on his own, albeit slowly. Burne and Rufus were waiting for them on the outskirts of town.

“What happened in the moathouse?” Burne asked.

Darius grinned tiredly. “We killed the New Master.”

“We were going to offer our services,” said Rufus. “But you were gone by the time we went to the inn to find you. Just how early did you get up?”

“Before dawn,” Hermia said, glaring at Gwenna.

Burne noticed Harper’s condition for the first time. “Were you hurt in there?”

Harper shrugged. “Not badly. Rodney kept me alive.”

“Still, you should go to the church,” said Rufus, eyeing Harper critically. “They’ll be able to fully heal your leg. If you don’t, you might be permanently disabled.”

“We made the arrest, by the way,” Burne said. “Thanks for notifying us about the shopkeepers.”

“What’s this about an arrest?” asked Gwenna.

“Oh, we didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier. The shopkeepers are evil,” Hermia said.

“How do you figure that?”

“I saw them last night when we were searching for Zert’s room,” Rodney said.

“Oh. Well. Great, then.” For once, Gwenna had nothing to say.

“I think the heroes of the hour deserve some drinks on us,” said Rufus, and they set off down the road back to the inn.

“Oh _shit,_ ” Hermia whispered to Darius. “If there’s no more shopkeepers, where are we going to sell all our treasure?”

\---

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight,” said George.

Harry yawned and checked the clock. He was startled to discover how quickly time had slipped away; it was past midnight.

“Well, that was exciting,” said George. “Disregarding the slaughter in the ruins, you were all much more peaceful than I was expecting.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

“Usually they’re a bit more violent. I was half-expecting Rodney to try to hunt down and murder Zert the moment they saw that the room was evil.”

“I had a talk with him after the previous incident,” said Hermione.

“What was the previous incident?” Draco asked. “Wait, do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” said Ginny. She slid her arm around Harry’s waist. “I’m going to bed.”

Harry kissed her good-night. “I’ll be up in a bit,” he said.

“What was all that about Rodney the Prat and Rodney the Pillock?” Ron asked as Ginny climbed upstairs. “Wait. Is _pilgarlic_ a real word?”

“Yeah, it refers to somebody who should be pitied or held in contempt. Darius thinks he’s better than anyone because of his magical training. I thought it would make him a more interesting character.”

“You’re not supposed to play yourself,” said Ron. Hermione stomped on his foot.

“We should get home,” Hermione said. “Harry, don’t forget, we’re having brunch with Molly tomorrow.”

Harry squirmed. He had forgotten about the brunch with the Weasleys.

“We’re off, then.” Hermione hugged George and Harry goodbye and gave Draco a friendly sort of wave before dragging Ron out the door. Harry could hear her berating him as they made their way down past the protective warding around Grimmauld Place.

“Ron doesn’t really think I’m just playing myself, does he?”

Harry was taken aback at the vulnerability in Draco’s voice. “I’m not sure,” he answered.

“Haven’t I been punished enough? Does he really have knock me down every time I try to gain some semblance of normalcy in my life?”

“As much as I don’t want to hear this conversation,” George broke in. “I’d like to bring to your attention the fact that you just called playing _Dungeons & Dragons _ for seven hours straight ‘normal’.”

Harry glared.

“And with that, I take my leave.” George sketched an elaborate bow. “See you tomorrow, Harry. Er, later today, that is.” He scurried out the door.

“I’m trying to move on,” Draco said, so quietly Harry could barely hear him. “Why don’t people get that? I’m trying to make it right.”

“There’s some things you can’t make right. Ron and Ginny and George lost a brother because of the people you chose to support. Logically, they know it wasn’t your fault, but no one is perfectly logical.”

“Sherlock Holmes is.”

“Sherlock Holmes isn’t real,” Harry said. He paused. “Wait, how do you know who Sherlock Holmes is?”

“I told you, I’m trying to move on. I’m trying to learn.” Pink tinged Draco’s cheekbones. “Hermione suggested some of her favorite Muggle novels.”

“That’s… actually kind of sweet.”

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will feed your innards to your owl.”

“And there’s the Draco Malfoy we all know and love.”

“I’m going home.” Draco clattered around louder than Harry thought was strictly necessary, gathering up his character sheet and putting on his coat and scarf. “Enjoy brunch with the Weasels.”

“Yeah, you’re doing a great job of trying to change.”

That stopped Draco in his tracks. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. See you on Monday.” He was out the door before Harry could formulate a response.

Harry sighed as he climbed the stairs to his and Ginny’s bedroom. Maybe he was being too harsh on Draco. After all, Draco had made bounds of progress since the war. He had quickly gained the respect of the senior Aurors, but Harry supposed that old habits died hard. Harry remembered the headlines from just after the war: Things like “Malfoy Family Flee to France in Disgrace” and “Malfoy Fortune Seized for Reparations” and, more recently, “Son of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s Right Hand Man Seeks Employment as Auror.” Draco really did seem to be doing his best to move forward, but the world didn’t want to let him.

Ginny was already asleep, but she murmured when Harry slid under the covers, a warm, comforting presence by his side. Even so, it was hours before Harry finally fell asleep, and his dreams were tormented with memories of a war that he thought had ended long ago.


End file.
